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"How long has this been going on?"

"Years. I moved here from Chicago to get away from it. I thought if I left, the debts would stay behind."

Chicago. I'd kept that city out of my mouth for over six years. Out of every conversation, every form, every answer I gave when someone asked where I was from. And now it was in my headset, coming from a boy on a rooftop who had done the same thing I did.

"I was in Chicago too." The words left me before I could stop them. "A long time ago. I know what it's like to need a fresh start. They don't fix everything. They don't erase what happened. But they give you enough distance to figure out what comes next."

"Distance didn't help me. Someone from back home connected with guys out here. It doesn't matter where I go."

"Rowan, there are people who handle exactly this. Lawyers, programs, law enforcement."

"I just wanted someone to know." His voice dropped. "That's why I called. I didn't call for help. I called so there'd be a voice on the recording. So it wouldn't just be nothing."

For one second I couldn't speak. He was saying goodbye, and I was the last voice he'd chosen to hear.

I pressed my hand flat on the desk and kept my voice where it needed to be. I had seconds, not minutes, and every word I chose from this point forward was either the right one or the last one.

"Engine 19, what's your ETA?"

"One minute out."

"Rowan, I hear you. But you're still on this line. You're still talking to me. That means something."

"It doesn't mean what you think it means."

"Maybe not. But Rowan, if you're involved with the people you're describing, you know things. Names, connections, how the money moves. Law enforcement wants that information. They'd work with you, protect you, in exchange for what you know. That changes your situation."

"It doesn't change anything."

"It does. But none of it happens if you're not here to make that call."

His breathing changed. The flat voice that had scared me more than screaming cracked open, and what came through was worse than either. He was crying.

Through the radio, I could hear boots on the stairwell. Then Alex's voice came through.

"Dispatch, I'm on the roof. He's past the railing. Both feet on the ledge side."

Past the railing. I'd been picturing him near the edge. He was past it.

"Copy, Engine 19. I still have him on the line. Gambling addiction, he's in debt to loan sharks and they've followed him here. He's breaking down."

Nothing on Alex's channel.

"Engine 19, do you copy?"

"Copy." One word, half a beat late. "Sawyer, you're with me."

For a second I thought we'd lost the connection. In every call I'd worked with him, he'd never missed a beat on the radio.

"Don't come near me!" Rowan's voice came through my headset, ragged and loud. "I'll jump. I will."

I heard Alex's voice twice. Once through the radio and once through Rowan's phone, arriving from two directions at once.

"I hear you. I'm not coming any closer. I just want to talk."

Rowan didn't answer. His breathing was ragged on the line, hitching every few seconds. He was still crying.

"I'm not going to tell you it's going to be okay," Alex said. "I don't know if it's going to be okay. But I'm here, and I'm listening."