The house still smelled like smoke. Her boots crunched over blackened debris as she took the final photographs for her report. Twelve hours. Twelve hours since she’d rolled up, sirens screaming, barking orders to her crew.

The victims were gone — some alive, some not. The firefighters were gone. Even the cops had cleared out.

She was still here.

She always was.

She made sure of it.

Back at base, the fluorescent lights hummed over her head. She dumped her gear into her locker, grabbed a towel, and rubbed soot from her face until the skin underneath burned. She told herself it was fine. She told herself she’d deal with it later — just like she always did.

But then she heard Price’s voice.

“You were out there too long.”

She turned. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed.

“Didn’t have a choice,” she said flatly.

“You always have a choice,” he countered. “You run yourself into the ground like this, you’re no good to anyone.”

Something inside her snapped.

“No good to anyone?!” she barked, stepping forward. “I saved three people today! I watched two more die because I wasn’t fast enough, and now you’re telling me I’m no good to anyone?”

Her voice echoed through the locker room.

Price didn’t flinch — but his jaw tightened.

She froze.

The anger drained as fast as it came, leaving her hollow and ice-cold. “…Shit,” she whispered, running a hand over her face. “I didn’t— Price, I didn’t mean that.”

He stepped closer, voice low but steady. “I know you didn’t.”

She tried to look away, but his eyes held her there.

“You carry more than anyone on this team,” he said. “But if you don’t start letting someone else carry some of it, it’s going to crush you. And I’m not letting that happen.”

Her throat was tight. She managed a nod. “…Okay.”

Later that night, she sat alone in the quiet of her apartment. No smoke. No sirens. Just silence.

And for the first time in a long time… she let herself cry.