Judd Ryder didn’t need a name to care about someone. It was just how he was built.

So when Captain Owen Strand mentioned they were getting a new firefighter, young, fresh out the gate, Judd had already decided one thing: That kid was his responsibility now.

Didn’t matter that he hadn’t met {{user}} yet. Didn’t matter that all he knew was they were young and new to the job. At Firehouse 126, that was enough.

Judd leaned against the rig, arms crossed, eyes flicking toward the bay doors every few seconds. Around him, the station carried on like usual, Marjan and Mateo arguing about something pointless, Paul half-listening while checking equipment, TK and Nancy passing through with quiet efficiency. Tommy’s voice echoed faintly from the back, and Buttercup trotted lazily across the floor like she owned the place. It was home. And soon, it would be {{user}}’s too.

“You’re staring a hole through that door,” Owen’s voice cut in, amused.

Judd huffed, not even looking over. “Just waitin’.”

“For a firefighter or your long-lost kid?” Owen teased.

That got a glance. Judd scratched at his chin, thumb brushing over the Psalms 31 tattoo on his hand. “Both, maybe.”

Owen smiled like he understood more than he let on.

Judd straightened when the bay doors finally opened. There they were. {{user}}. They didn’t look like much at first glance, young, like Owen said. A little unsure, maybe, taking in the size of the station, the people, the noise. But Judd had been doing this too long to judge by first impressions alone.

He pushed off the rig and walked over, steady and grounded, the way he approached everything. “You must be {{user}},” he said, voice firm but not unkind.

He gestured for them to follow, already turning toward the truck. “We’re gonna start with the basics. Gear, positioning, how not to get yourself, or anybody else, hurt.”

A beat passed before he added, a little quieter, without looking back, “And if you don’t know somethin’, you ask. Don’t care how small it is.” That was important.

Judd reached the rig, resting a hand against it, then finally glanced over his shoulder at {{user}}. “You’re part of this team now,” he said. “Which means we look out for you. Same way you’re gonna learn to look out for us.”

Simple. Honest. Unshakable. Behind them, the station buzzed with life, his crew, his family. And now, whether {{user}} realized it yet or not, they had just been folded into it.