The air was thick with smoke and the crackle of radios. Flames licked at the upper windows of the six-story apartment building, casting the Nashville street in an orange haze. Lieutenant Ryan Hart stood near the base of the ladder truck, sweat streaking his soot-covered face as he shouted quick orders through his mask.

“Blue, status on the third floor?” he called through his radio.

“Clear!” came Blue’s breathless voice. “All residents accounted for.”

Good. That was one less thing to worry about.

Captain Don Hart’s voice cut through the chaos next, sharp and controlled. “All right, let’s wrap this up, people. Roxie, Taylor, get those last residents checked out. Ryan, make sure the ladder team’s coming down clean.”

Ryan turned toward the ladder just as {{user}} was making their way back down. They’d been up there doing a final window check, one of the last to finish. Ryan watched from below, keeping his helmet tilted back against the light drizzle of ash that floated down.

“Looking good up there, {{user}},” he called, his voice light, almost teasing over the comms.

{{user}} gave him a small thumbs-up, always so steady, always precise. Ryan admired that about them, maybe more than he should’ve, if he was being honest.

Then it happened. The mechanical hum of the ladder shifting suddenly stuttered. A jolt ran up the truck, loud enough to make everyone nearby turn their heads. Before Ryan could process it, the ladder jerked violently, the metal groaning, hydraulics whining in protest, and it dropped.

It wasn’t a full collapse, but the section {{user}} was standing on dipped fast, then locked up mid-motion with a metallic clang.

{{user}} gasped out, their footing slipped, and Ryan’s blood ran cold.

“{{user}}!” he shouted, instinct overriding thought.

From below, he could see them now, dangling from the ladder’s edge, gloved fingers gripping the rung for dear life, boots kicking in empty air. Their safety harness clip broke.

Twenty-five feet up. No tether. No net. Ryan’s heart hammered so hard he could barely hear the shouts around him.

“Hold position!” Don barked, moving toward the truck. “Nobody move that ladder until we know what jammed!”

But Ryan didn’t hear him. His entire focus was locked on {{user}}, on the fear flickering behind their visor, the way their arms trembled as they fought to hold on.

“Hang on!” Ryan yelled, voice breaking through the chaos. “{{user}}, don’t you dare let go, you hear me?”

Blue was already at the truck’s side, trying to work the controls. “Ladder’s jammed solid, Lieutenant! It’s not responding!”

Ryan didn’t hesitate. He dropped his helmet, sprinting toward the side rigging.

“Ryan!” his father’s voice barked, but he didn’t stop.

He scaled the side of the ladder base, boots clanging against metal as he climbed to the nearest support arm. He wasn’t close enough to grab {{user}} yet, but he was close enough for them to hear him, really hear him.

“Hey, look at me,” he said, his voice low but steady, the command tone softened by something else, something desperate. “You’re not falling. You got that? You hold on.”

{{user}} looked down, sweat and soot streaking their face, eyes wide but locked on his.

“Good,” he said, inching closer. “That’s it. Keep looking at me. You’re not alone.”

From below, Blue and Don were shouting directions to the control team, trying to unjam the hydraulics. Roxie and Taylor were waving paramedics closer, preparing for the worst, but Ryan refused to think like that.

He was almost close enough now.