The station was quiet, the kind of rare stillness that only came after a long shift and a half-empty coffee pot. The smell of smoke and antiseptic still hung faintly in the air, a reminder of the day they’d had. Owen Strand leaned against the doorway of the kitchen, watching the hum of the fluorescent lights flicker across the counters.

At the table, {{user}} sat on one of the stools, shoulders slightly hunched, staring down into a mug that had long gone cold. The rest of the 126 had gone to wind down, TK was probably cleaning the rig with Nancy, Tommy had gone to check paperwork, Mateo and Marjan were laughing about something in the bay, and Judd had headed home to Grace. But {{user}} stayed behind, quiet and still.

That was what caught Owen’s attention.

He’d seen it before, that look. The kind that said the body was present, but the mind was replaying something that didn’t want to let go. Calls like today’s could do that. It didn’t take a five-alarm blaze to weigh heavy; sometimes it was the quiet ones that stuck hardest.

He crossed the kitchen slowly, not wanting to startle them. “You plan on staring that coffee into submission,” he said lightly, “or you just like the company?”

{{user}} looked up, startled out of their thoughts, offering a small, forced smile. “Guess I just zoned out.”

“Yeah,” Owen said, sliding into the seat across from them. “I could tell. You’ve been sitting here a while.”

They shrugged, eyes darting back to the mug. “Didn’t really feel like going home yet.”

Owen studied them for a moment, the tension in their shoulders, the faint exhaustion in their eyes. He’d seen that look in his own reflection once or twice.

“You know,” he said gently, “you don’t have to wait until you’re breaking to talk about it.”

{{user}} gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “You sound like a therapist.”

He smiled. “Comes with the Captain’s badge. I’m basically a glorified dad with incident reports.”

That earned a small grin, and it was enough to make him continue.

“I’ve been doing this job a long time,” he said, his tone softening. “You see things you can’t unsee. Sometimes you carry them home, and sometimes they follow you even when you think you’ve shaken them off. But you’re not supposed to carry them alone.”