I know Scott’s thinking about it too, though he doesn’t say it.
The closer we get, the thicker the air feels. There’s smoke well before we see the building, a dark column rising into the night sky like a signal.
“Not good,” Scott mutters under his breath.
“Yeah,” I agree quietly.
Scott swings the rig around the corner, and the full scene slams into view. It’s absolute chaos. Fire engines line the street at angles that block off traffic. Hoses snake across pavement, water spraying in high arcs towards a three-story apartment building that’s actively burning. I recognize it immediately. Empty, or at least it was supposed to be. Boarded windows and broken bricks tower over the street; it’s the kind of place people avoid even in daylight.
Flames lick out of blown out, second-floor windows, glass is shattered, and smoke pours thick and black into the night sky, blocking out the already limited visible stars above.
People are everywhere: from firefighters to civilians to victims. Some wrapped in blankets, some coughing, some just… staring, disoriented and terrified. The kind of staring that I recognize as shock that hasn’t worn off yet.
This neighborhood doesn’t need another hit like this. And yet… here it is.
“Alright,” Scott says, slipping into the rhythm we’ve done a thousand times. “We triage, treat, and transport. Backup’s on the way.”
“Got it.”
“Let’s move!” Scott yells as we park.
He grabs the portable O2 from the back while I grab a bag and we rush out the back doors of the rig.
“EMS coming through!” I shout, causing a collection of gawkers to part for us.
A firefighter flags us down immediately; soot smeared across his face and breathing hard. “Second and third floor involved. Multiple victims were already pulled out. We’ve got more unaccounted for,” he declares.
“Got it,” I reply. “Where do you want us triaging?”
“We already started,” he discloses, pointing to a space between two parked firetrucks were a young woman covered in soot sits on the curb coughing.
And then I see him, Alex. He’s standing just beyond the immediate chaos, near the edge of the perimeter, dressed like he always is, in a button-up, slacks, and his badge clipped to his belt. But there’s nothing casual about the way he’s standing. His posture is tight and controlled, as his eyes scan everything. Not like a bystander, not even like a cop just keeping order. Like a hunter. Like he’s already ten steps ahead of whatever’s happening.
Like the fire is only part of the problem.
His gaze cuts across the scene and lands on me. Just for a second. A flicker of recognition crosses his face. And something else. But it’s gone before I can identify it. He’s right back to being professional and focused.
“Liv!” Scott barks, snapping me back into it.
Right, work. We move in.
When we reach our patient, she isn’t what I expect but also makes sense now why Alex is here. She’s young, early twenties, brown hair tumbling over her shoulders in messy chunks, like she hasn’t had access to a hairbrush in weeks. She’s covered in soot and coughing hard. But that’s not what hits me. It’s the bruising on her wrists and her neck. Fading yellow and fresh purple layered together.
My stomach twists. “Hey,” I say, kneeling beside her. “I’ve got you.”
Her eyes snap to mine, terrified, but not from the fire. From everything else.
“We’re getting you out of here,” I add, softer now.
She nods quickly, too quickly. Like she’s grown used to being told what to do.
Scott is already setting up oxygen, so I start assessing her. Airway: compromised but open. Breathing: rapid. Circulation: elevated pulse.
But it’s the details that don’t fit a normal fire victim. The way she flinches every time Scott moves beside me. It’s in the way her hands stay close to her body, protective and conditioned. My gaze flicks toward the building again. And that’s when I see it. Not just decay and abandonment. But opportunity. A place no one looks at means it’s a place no one will look into.
Across the scene, Alex moves closer to the structure, ducking under tape with a quick word to a firefighter. They let him through without hesitation.
Of course they do.
