The absence hit before anything else. It settled into the air at Fire Station 118 like something out of place, subtle, but wrong enough that Buck couldn’t ignore it.

He stood near the lockers, eyes scanning the room again. No {{user}}. They were always early. Earlier than him, half the time. Gear ready, coffee in hand, steady as ever. But not today.

Across the room, Chimney,moved through paperwork at the captain’s desk. The title still felt new on him after Bobby. Everything did.

Nearby, Hen and Eddie talked quietly over coffee, their voices low, like the station itself hadn’t fully learned how to be loud again.

Ravi was halfway inside a cabinet. “Okay, who stole my mug?”

“And why is that the emergency?” Eddie muttered.

From the kitchen, Harry, still settling into the role of probie, rummaged for snacks like it was a full-time job. It all looked normal. But it wasn’t. Buck checked his phone again. Nothing. No reply to his texts. No missed call returned. No anything.

His jaw tightened slightly. “They’re not here yet?” he asked, trying to keep it casual as he glanced toward Hen.

She shook her head. “Not that I’ve seen.”

That didn’t sit right. Buck had already called. Twice. Then three more times. Straight to voicemail every time. He told himself it could be anything. Overslept. Dead phone. Traffic.

But his brain didn’t stay there. It never did. Thirty minutes, he decided. He could wait thirty minutes.

He didn’t sit. He paced. Checked the bay. Checked his phone. Checked the door like it might magically fix the situation. Nothing changed.

At minute thirty, he grabbed his keys. “I’m heading out,” he said quickly.

Chimney looked up. “Buck-”

“I’ll call,” Buck cut in, already moving. “They’re not answering.”

That was enough. No one stopped him.

The drive felt too long. Every red light dragged. Every second stretched. Buck’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as his mind filled in the blanks, worst-case scenarios coming faster than he could shut them down.

When he pulled up to {{user}}’s building, he didn’t hesitate. Out of the Jeep. Up the steps. Heart pounding hard enough to feel in his throat.

He fumbled slightly for the spare key, something {{user}} had given him without a second thought, and forced himself to breathe.

“Okay,” he muttered. “You’re fine. They’re fine.”

The key slid into the lock. The click sounded too loud. Buck pushed the door open. “{{user}}?” His voice came out sharper than he meant, already moving inside, eyes scanning fast, instincts kicking in the same way they did on a call.

Except this wasn’t a call. This was worse. Because he didn’t know what he was walking into.