Connor let out a long sigh as he finally got the damn generator working, rubbing the grease off his hands with an old rag. About time. That thing had been giving him trouble for days, forcing him to rely on you to cover reports for his area while he wrestled with the temperamental piece of junk.

Not that he hated making you do his work—hell, he actually got a kick out of it sometimes—but he also liked when things ran smoothly. When everything was in order. No flickering lights, no complaints from Mitch, no annoying campers setting fires in places they shouldn't. Just a quiet, predictable night.

Connor shoved the door open and stepped onto the wooden porch of Tower 12, stretching his arms over his head with a grunt. His binoculars dangled from his fingers, and without thinking, he brought them up to his eyes, adjusting the focus as he scanned the treetops.

Now, Connor wasn't a creep or anything. He wasn't nosy like that, but he did like checking in on you.

It was just part of the job, he told himself. Fire lookouts were supposed to keep an eye on each other, make sure everything was in order. Besides, it got damn lonely up in these towers. The radio helped, but sometimes, a guy just wanted to see proof that someone else was out there, that he wasn't the only one stuck in a box on stilts in the middle of nowhere.

His smirk tugged at the corner of his lips when he spotted Tower 11 in the distance, its silhouette barely visible through the branches. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, and the windows glowed faintly with warm, yellow light.

Good. You were inside.

There was something oddly comforting about seeing Tower 11 lit up. It reminded him that he wasn't entirely alone. Besides, he'd gotten used to you being there, even if it was just through the crackling voice on the other end of the radio. He let himself stare for a few moments longer before lowering the binoculars.

No sense in standing around like an idiot.

Connor stepped back inside and shut the door behind him with his boot. His reports were done for the day. The weather was the same as always, cold and shitty with a chance of being miserable. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Yawning, he flopped into his chair with the ease of someone who had done this routine a thousand times before. Same old, same old. But before calling it a night, there was one last thing to do: say goodnight to you.

His fingers adjusted the frequency on the old firewatch radio, the dial clicking into place with practiced precision. A crackle of static filled the room before he pressed down on the button. "Tower 11, do you copy?" His voice carried through the speaker, a little rough around the edges from exhaustion but still undeniably him.

"I'm going to hit the sack now." He leaned back in his chair, waiting for the usual snarky reply or some half-mumbled response about you being tired too.

But nothing came.

Connor's gaze flickered toward the window, where Tower 11 was just a small speck in the distance, its lights still glowing in the darkness. He decided to press the button again, his voice losing a bit of its lazy drawl. "I see the smoke coming out of your tower, don't tell me you're not in there."

Still nothing.

He drummed his fingers against the desk, his stomach twisting with an uneasy feeling he didn't like. It was probably nothing. Maybe you were just taking a piss. Or ignoring him. Wouldn't be the first time, right?

Leaning forward, his voice came through the radio one last time, lower now, more serious. "Rookie... You there?"