"I miss him," he said quietly.
My eyes filled before I could stop them. "Me too."
A beat of silence. The space between us felt charged with something I didn't have words for.
"I don't think he'd want us to be this sad forever," I said. The words came out before I could second-guess them.
Cal's expression shifted. Something moved behind his eyes, hope or fear or both, I couldn't tell.
"No," he said slowly. "He wouldn't."
We stood there for a moment longer, neither moving. I thought about reaching for his hand. Thought about asking him to stay. I thought about all the things I wasn't ready to say but was starting to feel anyway.
"Goodnight, Lucy," he said.
"Goodnight, Cal."
He stepped into the hallway. I watched him cross to his own door, unlock it, glance back at me one more time before disappearing inside.
I closed my door. Locked it. Pressed my forehead against the wood and let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
We'd said Mateo's name out loud, together, and the world hadn't ended. I'd smiled remembering him, and the guilt hadn't swallowed me whole.
Maybe this was what healing looked like. Not forgetting, but finally being able to remember without breaking.
CHAPTER 9
Cal
The tones droppedat 3:47 AM.
I was awake before the sound finished, feet on the floor, body moving while my brain caught up. Structure fire. Family of four. Flames visible from the street.
The station came alive around me. Boots hitting concrete, gear rattling, the engine rumbling to life in the bay. Liam was already in his coat when I reached the truck. Owen slid behind the wheel. Riley grabbed the radio and started confirming our ETA, her voice crisp and professional despite the hour.
Nobody spoke on the ride over. We never did, not on calls like this. The silence was its own kind of preparation, each of us running through scenarios, checking mental checklists, saying whatever prayers we'd never admit to out loud.
The house was fully involved when we arrived. Two stories, older construction, flames pouring out of the upstairs windows and licking at the roofline. Awoman stood on the front lawn in a nightgown, barefoot on the cold grass, screaming that her children were still inside. Her husband was trying to hold her back. His face was black with soot and one arm hung wrong at his side. He'd already tried to go back in. You could see it in the way he stood, the defeat written across his body.
I jumped down from the engine and started calling orders. "Two kids, second floor. Murphy, Mitchell, you're with me. Santos, get a line established and stand by for backup."
We ran across the yard. The heat hit us twenty feet from the door, that wall of warmth that tells you the fire's been burning awhile, that it's dug in deep and won't give up easy. I could hear it now too, the roar and crackle, wood popping, glass shattering somewhere inside.
Standard call. I'd done this a hundred times.
I reached the front door. Put my hand on the frame.
And stopped.
Half a second. Maybe less. Just long enough for the heat to wash over my face and the smoke to curl toward me, black and thick, and for my body to remember what my mind tried to forget.
The warehouse. Three years ago. That same heat, that same smoke. Mateo on the radio saying he was pinned, saying the east wall was coming down, saying he needed help. Me going back in because that's what you do, that's always what you do. Finding him under the rubble with a beam across hischest and blood on his lips and his eyes already knowing what I couldn't accept.
I slipped back in time for a few seconds, back to three years ago. I remembered the voice and the words:
Take care of Lucy. Promise me.
"Cap." I heard Liam calling me, and I snapped back to the call. There were people who needed to be saved. "Clock's running."
