The days after the first fire blurred together one call after another until time itself seemed to burn away we would wake before dawn train until our muscles trembled then eat fast and wait waiting was its own kind of fire the silence between alarms stretched tight across the room like wire every creak of the station sounded like the start of something it kept us half awake always ready the coffee was never hot for long because the bell could ring at any moment

Station 42 was small but alive in its own rhythm we were seven firefighters and one captain a mix of veterans and rookies everyone carried their own ghosts you could see it in the way they checked their gear twice before each call in the way they stared a second too long at the flames before turning their backs to them the quiet moments between jobs were heavier than the noise one of the older guys Hank smoked on the back steps after every fire said it was the only way to taste normal again another spent his nights fixing equipment just to keep his hands busy nobody ever said the word fear out loud but it hung in the air with the smell of diesel and sweat

I started learning how to move without thinking rolling hoses clearing ladders climbing into the rig with practiced precision the weight of the uniform became familiar the straps the buckles the mask all part of my own skin when we trained the heat from the simulated fires was suffocating but I found comfort in it the burn reminded me that I was strong enough to stand inside it sometimes I would catch my reflection in the truck window helmet tilted shoulders blackened and for a heartbeat I saw the man who had once saved me reflected back I wondered if this was how he had looked that night calm through chaos

The first time I worked a night shift alone on rotation the sky outside the bay doors was thick with rain the sound of it mixing with the soft hum of machines inside I walked the hall checking everything twice habit more than duty it felt strange being awake when the rest of the city slept like standing guard over something sacred I sat at the dispatch desk for a while staring at the radio light blinking steady red every heartbeat of the city pulsed through that box waiting for the next voice to break through

At three in the morning it came not a fire this time a car accident out by the highway wet asphalt broken glass sirens reflected off puddles like shattered mirrors we pulled two people from the wreck one breathing one not I held the woman’s hand as the medics worked on her she kept whispering his name over and over her voice barely there when they took her away I stood beside the road the smell of gasoline heavy around me thinking how fast everything ends how thin the line is between ordinary life and disaster it made me realize fire wasn’t always flames sometimes it was the quiet aftermath the smoke that never fully clears

Back at the station I scrubbed the gear until my fingers ached the water turning black running down the drain I didn’t want to sleep I didn’t want to dream I just wanted to keep moving the captain found me there and said it never gets easier you just learn to breathe through it I nodded though I wasn’t sure I ever would

The weeks turned into months my hands grew calloused my arms stronger but what changed most was inside I started to understand what it meant to belong to something bigger than yourself every call every drill every drop of sweat was part of the same unspoken vow we go when others can’t we stand when others fall I carried that thought with me through every shift it was heavy and holy at the same time

On my day off I walked by the river near the station the air smelled clean the water dark and still I thought about how the world kept moving no matter what burned or broke I realized I had stopped feeling like the girl who once watched from the sidelines now I was part of the motion part of the flame and even in exhaustion I found peace in that rhythm the mix of ash and sweat that made up the life I had chosen