Jack drove the next day with a slower kind of calm. Seeing the lights, even for a short moment, had done something to him. It had settled a part of his mind that had been restless since the day he locked the door of his fire safety company. He no longer felt like he was running away from his old life. Now it felt like he was moving toward something. He did not know what that something was yet, but he could feel it ahead of him like a warm place in the cold

The road carried him through long stretches of open white. Snow fields spread out on both sides of the highway like quiet oceans. The air was dry and clear and thin. His hands were steady on the wheel. Every now and then he would pass a small set of buildings, a cabin, a gas pump, a metal shed. Then there would be miles and miles of nothing again

Around midday, he pulled into a roadside stop that looked more like a big shed than a real station. A hand painted sign on the door said OPEN in red letters. He parked and stepped out, boots crunching in the hard snow. The cold bit deep into his face and made his eyes water. When he opened the door, warm air wrapped around him like a blanket

Inside, there were only two other people. A woman in a heavy sweater sat behind the counter reading a paperback. A man in his thirties leaned over a table covered in maps. A small space heater clicked and hummed on the floor. The place smelled like coffee, rubber, and diesel

The woman looked up. You heading north or south, she asked

North, Jack said. Fairbanks

She nodded slow like she was measuring him. You got chains

In the back, Jack said. I hope I do not have to use them

Hope is nice, she said. Ice is not

The man at the table looked up. He had short dark hair and a rough beard. His hands were red from the cold. You a firefighter, he asked

Jack blinked. What gave me away

The man grinned. Your jacket. That logo on the sleeve. Turner Fire Safety Systems. You walk like someone who used to carry weight and run on no sleep

Jack let out a quiet laugh. Used to, he said. I retired last week

The man whistled low. Retired and you drove into Canada in winter. Most people your age go to Florida

I tried sitting still, Jack said. It did not work

They all laughed at that, even the woman behind the counter. She stood and poured coffee into a metal cup. On the house, she said. You look like a man who has seen a few things

Jack thanked her and wrapped his hands around the cup. The warmth felt good in his fingers. The man walked over and pulled out a chair. Name is Ryan, he said. Heading to a job up north. I work on remote lines. Snow crews, radio towers, that kind of thing. You can sit

Jack sat. Ryan spread one of the maps open and pointed. Weather is ugly up here the next few days, he said. But if you stay on this road and do not drive like a fool, you will get through. Watch this turn. Black ice likes to sit there

Jack nodded. He traced the road with his finger and tried to memorize the curve. He had done this a thousand times before with building plans and fire exits. It felt good to study something with a purpose again

So, Ryan said. What made you quit

Age, Jack said. And also time. I started the company with one truck and a borrowed ladder. Spent thirty years helping people keep from catching fire. Alarms, sprinklers, inspections. Not hero work. Just steady work. Last month I realized I have replaced more alarms than birthdays I remember. That did not sit right with me

Ryan leaned back. You miss it

Every piece of it, Jack said. The calls. The way guys talk when they are tired. The smell of metal and dust and cold morning air. Even the complaints. Especially the complaints. You get used to having people need you. Then one day they do not. You wake up and the silence is too loud

The woman behind the counter watched him with soft eyes now. That silence never goes away, she said. My husband was on highway rescue for twenty two years. When he stopped, he could not sleep. He said the house made too much quiet

Jack looked at her. How did he fix it

She smiled a little. He volunteers at the fire hall in town. Teaches little kids how not to burn their houses down. He stands there like a general talking to five year olds. He loves it

Jack smiled. That sounds about right

Ryan nodded toward him. You got family waiting on you back home

My daughter, Jack said. She told me to send pictures. So I am trying to act like I know how to use my phone

They laughed again. It felt easy. It felt like a table back at the firehouse. Coffee. Jokes. Road talk. No rush

After a while, Ryan said, You really going up there for the Northern Lights, or is that just the story you tell strangers

Jack thought about that for a long moment before answering. I saw them last night, he said. Just a little. Off in the corner of the sky. I thought it would feel like fireworks. It did not. It felt slow. Gentle. Alive. Like watching a memory

Ryan let out a low breath. You got lucky. Takes some people years to catch a clear night. Sometimes you chase that light like it owes you money

Jack nodded. I know I did not earn it yet. But I want to see it again. I want to stand under it for real. I want to know I saw something that was older than all of us and still moving

The woman leaned her elbows on the counter. You ask me, she said, that sounds like a good reason to drive anywhere

They let that sit in the air for a while. The heater clicked. Wind pushed against the walls. Snow tapped at the windows. The world outside was white and empty, but in that little station there was warmth, voices, and something like respect

Before Jack left, Ryan folded a small map and handed it to him. Take this, he said. Marked a couple safe pull offs. Places you can stop for the night if the road turns mean. Do not sleep out in the open if the wind picks up. It can drop fast and take you with it

Jack took the paper and slid it into his coat. Thank you

Hey, Ryan said, shrugging. You helped somebody, right. I can tell. So now somebody helps you. That is just balance

Jack felt a familiar ache in his chest. The good kind. The kind that said he still belonged to something, even out here where he did not know a single street name

He paid for gas, grabbed a small bag of jerky and a pair of hand warmers, then pushed back out into the cold. The air hit him like a wall, but his steps felt lighter. He climbed into the truck, turned the key, and listened as the engine started slow then smoothed out

On the dashboard sat his old company badge. Turner Fire Safety Systems. He had left it there when he first set out. Now he picked it up and turned it in his hand. The edges were worn. The red paint in the middle was chipped. He looked at it for a long time. Then he tucked it into the pocket of his coat instead of leaving it on the dash

Not done yet, he said under his breath

Snow swirled in the road as he pulled away from the station. His tires crunched over packed ice. The line of trees thinned and opened to a wide stretch of pale land under a low sky. The north waited, quiet and patient

He drove on

Behind him, the red OPEN sign glowed in the white air until it was too small to see

Ahead of him, the horizon looked cold and endless and alive

He felt ready for it