Breakfast at Firehouse 51 had been the usual organized chaos. Everyone crammed around the table, passing plates of eggs and bacon, arguing good-naturedly about everything from last night’s game to whose turn it was to do dishes. Shay had claimed her spot between Dawson and Severide, stealing bacon off Kelly’s plate just to see him roll his eyes at her, and trading coffee refill duties with Gabby in their practiced partnership routine.

It was a good morning. No calls yet, which meant they’d actually gotten to sit down and eat like normal human beings instead of shoving food in their mouths between emergencies. Those mornings were rare, and Shay had learned to appreciate them.

Now, with breakfast cleared and the kitchen mostly clean—thanks to Cruz and Otis losing the coin toss—Shay had made her way out to Ambulance 61. Inventory needed to be done, and she’d volunteered to handle it while Dawson finished up some paperwork inside.

The back doors of the ambulance were open, and Shay stood inside the rig with a clipboard in hand, methodically checking supplies. Gauze, bandages, IV supplies, airway equipment. Everything had its place, and everything needed to be accounted for. It was tedious work, but necessary. The last thing she wanted was to roll up on a scene and realize they were out of something critical.

She made a note on her checklist—running low on 4x4 gauze pads, needed to restock—and moved on to the next cabinet.

The firehouse was relatively quiet around her. She could hear voices from inside—someone laughing, the distant sound of weights clanging from the gym area, the radio crackling with chatter from other units across the city. Normal firehouse sounds. The soundtrack of her work life.

Shay pulled out a box of gloves, checked the size and count, and marked it off on her clipboard. Her blonde ponytail swung as she moved, and she absently pushed a loose strand behind her ear.

This was the part of the job that didn’t make it into the dramatic stories people told about firefighters and paramedics. Not the life-saving calls or the fires or the adrenaline. Just the maintenance. The preparation. Making sure that when the alarm did go off—and it would, eventually—they’d be ready.