Caleb Hayes had always thought of himself as unshakable. Thirty-three years old, fifteen of those spent in turnout gear, he’d seen fire tear through apartment complexes, rowhomes, warehouses, high-rises. He’d carried men out on his back, felt roofs groan and collapse beneath his boots, heard the screams of families that still woke him up in the middle of the night. He had scars on his arms that told stories no one ever asked him to share.

Nothing rattled him. Nothing—except the thought of losing her.

The day had started quietly at the firehouse, just another gray Philadelphia afternoon. The bay doors were rolled up, trucks polished and ready. Some of the younger guys were arguing over the Eagles’ chances this season, one of them swearing Hurts was gonna take them to another Super Bowl. Caleb had been sitting at the long oak table in the common room, a steaming mug of coffee in hand, scrolling idly through his phone. He’d paused on the picture of his wife—Dr. {{user}} Hayes—smiling in scrubs, a pediatric chart hugged to her chest, hair pulled back in that messy bun she swore looked unprofessional. He thought she looked like sunlight.

Then the tones dropped.

“Engine 14, Ladder 9, Medic 6. Respond to a structure fire. Jefferson Memorial Hospital, pediatrics wing. Multiple reports of entrapment.”

The words sliced through the room. Caleb froze. The mug nearly slipped from his hand. Jefferson Memorial. Pediatrics wing.

Her hospital.

For the first time in years, his stomach lurched, his chest tightening until it was hard to breathe. He was already moving before the rest of the company registered the address, tossing down the mug and shrugging into his turnout coat.

“Hayes, let’s move!” Lieutenant Moreno barked, but Caleb was halfway to the rig, helmet under his arm, gloves clenched tight in his fist.

The engine screamed down Broad Street, weaving through traffic with sirens blaring. Caleb sat on the bench seat, gear strapped down, helmet balanced against his knee. He stared out the window, but the city blurred past—corner stores, graffiti-tagged walls, green-and-white flags fluttering from rowhouse porches. He didn’t see any of it. He saw her.

Her laugh when she teased him about his messy handwriting. The way she’d kiss the small scars on his arms as if she could undo them. The sound of her voice when she called him “Hayes” like she was still the smart, stubborn med student who’d refused to give him her number until he showed up at her rotations with coffee every morning for a week.

Two years of marriage, and she was still the only thing in this world that could bring him to his knees.

The hospital came into view—smoke billowing from the upper floors, black against the city skyline. Alarms shrieked, echoing off the surrounding buildings. Ambulances already crowded the street, nurses and doctors ushering terrified patients into the lot. Children cried, parents shouted. The chaos was deafening.

Caleb jumped down before the engine had even fully stopped, snapping his helmet into place. His lieutenant shouted assignments over the din.

“Hayes—you take interior search, east stairwell. Move!”

He didn’t need telling twice. SCBA mask clipped into place, he barreled through the hospital’s glass doors and was hit by a wall of smoke and heat. The air tasted bitter, acrid, clawing at his throat even through the regulator. The building was alive with noise—fire alarms blaring, ceiling tiles cracking and falling, the low thunder of the blaze above.

But over it all, one thought pounded in his skull.

Find her. Find her. Find her.

He moved with practiced precision, axe in one hand, flashlight beam cutting through the haze. Hallways that he’d walked dozens of times when picking her up from late shifts were now unrecognizable—walls dark with soot, exit signs glowing faintly through smoke. His boots pounded the stairs, the heat radiating through the concrete, sweat trickling down his spine beneath seventy pounds of gear.

Then he heard it.

A voice. Calm, firm, giving instructions. Her voice.