The world narrowed to a single point. I was moving before the dispatcher finished speaking, feet hitting the apparatus bay floor, hands reaching for my gear. Around me, my crew mobilized with the same muscle memory, but I couldn't hear them, couldn't see anything except the address burning in my mind.
847 Main Street. Lucy's café. Possible occupants inside.
She worked late shifts. She picked up doubles when she couldn't sleep. She'd been staying with Joanna, but what if she'd gone back to work? What if she was inside right now, trapped, burning, dying the same way Mateo had died?
"Cap." Liam's voice, sharp. "Cal. You with me?"
I blinked. Found myself standing at the engine, gear half-on, hands frozen on my coat zipper.
"I'm good." The words came out steady. Automatic. "Let's move."
The engine roared to life. I took my seat, finished buckling my gear, and stared through the windshield at the dark streets blurring past. My radio crackled with updates: flames fully involved, roof compromised, no confirmed occupants but the café should have been closed hours ago.
Should have been.
But Lucy didn't always do what she should. Lucy worked doubles to avoid being alone. Lucy might have stayed late, might have been closing up, might have been inside when?—
I was afraid to finish the thought.
The café was fully engulfed when we arrived.
Flames poured from every window, reaching toward the sky, painting the downtown block in shades of orange and red. Smoke billowed in thick black columns, blotting out the stars, turning the familiar street into something from a nightmare.
I was out of the engine before it fully stopped, already assessing. The building was old, wood frame construction, the kind that burned fast and collapsed faster. The roof was sagging in the middle, flames licking through gaps in the shingles. We had minutes, maybe less, before the whole thing came down.
"Defensive attack," Liam called out, already directing the crew. "This thing's too far gone for interior operations. Murphy, get water on the exposure buildings. Mitchell, ladder to the?—"
"No." The word came out before I could stop it. "I'm going in."
Liam's head snapped toward me. "What?"
"The café. Lucy works here. If she's inside?—"
"Cap, the roof is compromised. You go in there, you're not coming out."
"I don't care."
I was already moving toward the entrance, mask going on, air pack engaged. Behind me, I heard Liam shouting something, heard the crew calling my name, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered exceptgetting inside, finding her, making sure she wasn't trapped in there the way Mateo had been trapped.
The front door was blown out, flames curling through the frame. I ducked low, pushed through, and the heat hit me like a physical wall. Even through my gear, I could feel it pressing against my skin, trying to cook me alive.
"Lucy!" My voice echoed in the roar of the fire. "Lucy, can you hear me?"
No answer. Just the crack of burning wood, the groan of stressed beams, the hungry sound of flames consuming everything in their path.
I pushed deeper into the café. The layout was familiar from dozens of coffee runs, from watching Lucy move through this space, but now it was transformed into something alien. Tables overturned and burning. The counter collapsed. The ceiling sagging lower with every second.
Something felt wrong. Not just the fire, but the way it was burning. Too hot. Too fast. Too even, like it had been fed from multiple points at once. The smell underneath the smoke wasn't just wood and fabric. There was something chemical there, something that made my instincts scream.
"Lucy!" I called again, scanning through the smoke. "If you're in here, make a sound!"
Nothing. Just the roar of the fire, the creak of compromised structure, the pop and hiss of things that shouldn't be burning.
That's when I noticed it. The way the flames moved. Too even, too coordinated, spreading inpatterns that didn't match a natural fire. The smell underneath the smoke—chemical, acrid.
Accelerant.
This wasn't an accident.
