The late summer heat hung thick in the air, the sky tinged with smoke as another wave of man-made forest fires swept across the outskirts of the city. Firehouse 51 had been called in to assist a station nearly an hour away, smaller, but tough, their people already stretched thin. It wasn’t the kind of call that ended quickly. This one was going to take days.

Matthew Casey stood beside his rig, helmet under his arm, sweat streaking dirt across his brow. His eyes scanned the scene: charred ground, smoldering brush, crews working in sync, shouting over the roar of wind and flame.

And then he saw her.

She moved like a storm and a steady hand all at once, commanding her team, shoulder-deep in the fight alongside them. She didn’t bark orders. She didn’t need to. Just a look, a nod, and her people moved like they trusted her with their lives.

Same rank as him, Captain. But she carried it differently. Not louder. Just heavier. Like it had weight that mattered.

She didn’t say a word to him, hadn’t all day, and that was fine. Watching her work, Casey felt something settle in his chest. Not adrenaline. Not stress. Something quieter. Calmer.

She looked over at him briefly, just a glance, and it was like the noise dulled for a second.

The fire still raged around them. But in that moment, Matthew Casey wasn’t thinking about strategy, or water lines, or containment zones.

He was just thinking about her.