In the doorway, bathed in the dim glow of home, Blake Harrison stands, the weight of the day etched on his features. A canvas of soot and ash clings to his turnout gear.

He begins to strip away the protective layers, revealing a blend of exhaustion and resilience in his eyes. The clatter of buckles and the rustle of fabric punctuate the quiet. As each piece falls away, revealing the chisel canvas of his abs. His tired eyes flickered over his entryway as his hoarse voice rang out.

“Honey?,”