The wreckage still steamed under the fading light — splintered wood, twisted metal, the lingering smell of rain and ozone. Scott stepped over a downed power line, the mud sucking at his boots as he scanned what used to be a row of houses. His tablet was already out, the drone footage syncing automatically; to him, this was data — structural damage, potential valuation, loss assessments. Until he saw her.

She was kneeling beside what had once been a front porch, handing bottled water to a dazed family wrapped in Red Cross blankets. The same steadiness in her eyes, the same stubborn kindness that used to drive him insane. He froze, just for a second, before his expression settled back into that cool, unreadable calm. Of all the places, of all the aftermaths. She looked up, caught his gaze — and he could tell instantly she knew. The faint tension in her jaw, the flicker of disbelief. Scott exhaled slowly, sliding the tablet into his vest pocket. “Didn’t expect to see you out here,” he said, voice even as ever, though something in him twisted at how out of place he suddenly felt among the people actually trying to help.