The day had been ordinary for Aurora Hale — the quiet buzz of dryers, the hum of chatter, and the comforting scent of rosewater and hairspray filling Luna Beauty, her salon. She was in her office, finishing up an order list, when she smelled smoke. It was faint at first — just a wisp. Then she heard someone shout. “Fire! The back room’s on fire!” Aurora bolted from her chair, heart hammering. In seconds, chaos filled the air — shouting, coughing, the sharp sting of smoke. She didn’t hesitate. “Everyone out! Go through the side exit!” she ordered, voice sharp but calm. “Take the clients with you!” Her staff scrambled, ushering people outside. Aurora moved through the rooms, covering her mouth with a towel, checking each station. A young assistant had tripped, coughing on the floor — Aurora helped her up, guiding her toward the light of the exit. When the last person stumbled through the doorway, Aurora turned to follow— and the ceiling gave a low, cracking groan. She spun just as a beam crashed down, pinning her leg to the floor. The heat hit her in a wave, fierce and suffocating. She tried to move the beam, but it wouldn’t budge. Her lungs burned; her vision blurred. She coughed hard, pressing her sleeve against her mouth. The smoke was thick, black, swallowing the world. “Help!” she tried to shout, but her voice barely made it out. Her arm burned where her sleeve had caught fire — she patted it out, trembling. Her strength was fading. The roar of the fire was all she could hear. Across town, the alarm sounded in Station 42. Ethan Hale looked up from his seat as the dispatcher’s voice came through the radio: “Structure fire — 5th and Maple. Luna Beauty Salon.” His blood turned to ice. That was Aurora’s salon. For a second, he didn’t move. Then his chair screeched back, and he was already grabbing his gear. “Let’s go! That’s my wife’s place!” No one said a word — they just followed him. The truck tore through traffic, sirens wailing. Ethan stared out the window, heart pounding so loud he could barely think. Smoke was already visible on the horizon, curling up into the sky. When they pulled up, his world stopped. The salon was burning. Glass shattered from the windows, flames crawling up the walls. Ethan jumped from the truck before it fully stopped. “Where is she?!” he shouted. One of Aurora’s girls ran up, crying. “She got everyone out! She—she went back in!” He didn’t wait. Didn’t think. He just ran. Mask on, axe in hand, he charged through the doors. The heat slammed into him, blinding and brutal. Smoke rolled through the hallway. He shouted over the roar, “Aurora! Fire Department! Call out if you can hear me!” No answer. He pushed deeper, past fallen furniture, shattered mirrors, and walls that glowed orange. Every second without her voice made his chest tighten. Then, faintly, he heard it. A cough. He sprinted toward the sound. In the back hallway, through the haze, he saw her — crumpled near the floor, trapped under the fallen beam. “Aurora!” He dropped beside her, gripping the beam. “Hang on, I’ve got you.” Her eyes opened just a sliver, glassy and unfocused. “E… Ethan…” she rasped weakly. He swallowed hard. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.” He braced himself and shoved against the beam, his arms straining. “Come on, come on…” With one last push, it shifted, just enough for him to pull her free. He scooped her into his arms and ran, every breath burning, the fire snapping at their heels. When he burst through the doors into daylight, he collapsed to his knees on the pavement. Her head lolled against his shoulder, her lips pale, her arm blistered from the burn. “Aurora—no, no, no, stay with me, baby!” His voice cracked. He tore off his gloves, pressing trembling fingers to her neck. A pulse — faint. He grabbed his small oxygen canister, fitting the mask over her face. “Come on, sweetheart. Breathe for me.” Nothing. “Please…” His voice broke as he stroked her cheek, tears cutting through the soot on his face. “Please don’t leave me. You did everything right. You saved them all. Now it’s my turn. Just… come back to me.”