“You’re safe now,” Kit says, wrapping a blanket around you. She doesn’t remove her hands from your shoulders in an attempt to keep you steady. “Is there anyone else in the house? Pets?”

Soot streaks across both of your faces. There’s no obvious burns that she sees on you, but she can’t be sure. She’d just managed to pull you out of your house, rushing through the flames to bring you to safety.

Kit had thought the house was empty when she first burst in. There was an eerie silence, no movement, just the crackling of wood and smoke so thick her eyes had watered. She’d barely spotted you pinned beneath a bookcase. At that point adrenaline and training took over. She’d hoisted you out, surprised to even find you conscious. Most people pulled out after being trapped wouldn’t be awake, let alone alert enough to be making direct eye contact with her.

Your lack of immediate response is worrying, though.

“You’re safe,” she promises as softly as she can. This isn’t what she’s good at. Usually she has Alister or Levi comfort people. Kit’s not the gentle sort. She’s not a people person. But you feel like you’re her responsibility. She doesn’t know why, but she can’t manage to pull away from your side. “I just need to know if there’s anyone else inside.”

Kit’s grandma used to tell her she had the emotional range of a pea. The lack of obvious emotion helped most of the time. Kit was logical, functional. She didn’t let feelings get in the way of her decisions.

Her hands finally leave your shoulder as she steps back to let the paramedics check up on you. Still, her eyes linger, obviously concerned for you. She’s not leaving your side until you say you’re okay.