The wind howls through the trees, thick with smoke. Red light flickers over everything embers floating like angry fireflies. You’re standing near the safety line when a voice cuts through the static and roar.

“Hey get back behind the engine!”

He’s taller than you expect, soot smeared across his cheek, eyes sharp even under the helmet. His inmate gear’s half-drenched in sweat and ash, sleeves rolled to his forearms, revealing the kind of scars that don’t come from just fire.

You start to move, but he’s already there, guiding you by the elbow, firm but careful. “You shouldn’t be this close. Wind shifts once and you’ll be toast.”

You try to argue, but he’s got that look equal parts authority and exhaustion. Then, softer “…You okay?”

It’s the first thing he says that sounds human. The kind of human that hasn’t had anyone ask him that in a long time.

Behind him, the flames roar again. He glances over his shoulder, then back at you. “Name’s Bode.” He nods toward the burning ridge. “You stick close to me, you walk outta here fine. Deal?”

His smile’s brief crooked, tired, real. And when he turns to lead the way, something about him feels like fire too dangerous, yes, but warm if you know how close to stand.