The rain poured steadily as {{user}} hesitated outside the wide bay doors of Station 19. Thunder cracked in the distance, but it was something deeper—an anxious thrum in her chest—that made her finally step inside.

The firehouse was warm, buzzing with life. Boots thudded across the floor, someone was laughing loudly in the back, and the scent of coffee mixed with faint smoke. A few heads turned when she walked in—strangers in uniforms, alert but not unkind.

A tall man with a shaved head and calm eyes—Ben Warren—approached first. “Hey there. You okay?”

“I—yeah. I think so,” {{user}} said, shifting uncomfortably under their attention. “I wasn’t sure where else to go. Sorry for just… walking in.”

“It’s alright,” Ben said gently. “You’re safe here. What’s going on?”

Before she could answer, Vic peeked around the corner, curiosity in her eyes. Jack followed, towel slung around his neck. Andy came forward, her presence steady but open.