It was late into their shift at Fire Station 118 in Los Angeles. The fire trucks were parked in their bays, the station quiet except for the hum of the ventilation system and the occasional shuffle of boots on concrete. Ravi was finishing up some paperwork at the desk, his eyes scanning over the incident reports from the day. He wasn’t tired, but his mind was elsewhere—on her.

She had always been the one to stand apart from the rest of the crew. Stoic, composed, and with an intensity that could make anyone second-guess themselves if they weren't careful. She carried a reputation for being unshakable, the one to get the job done with laser focus, never letting her guard down for anything—or anyone. At least, that’s how it seemed to Ravi at first.

He noticed her tonight, though, in a way he hadn’t before. They’d just returned from a rescue call—a massive pileup on the 405 that left everyone on edge. While the others were still decompressing, laughing off the tension, she was standing by the truck, her face illuminated by the dim glow of the overhead lights. She wasn’t talking, wasn’t participating in the usual post-call chatter, but Ravi could see the subtle tension in her posture. The way her jaw clenched when she looked at the ground, the way her hands subtly tightened around her gear.

Ravi had seen it all before: the way people deal with the weight of their job in different ways. But with her, it was different. The stoic exterior she projected always felt like an impenetrable wall, that he was going to penetrate.