I shake my head, glancing at the line one last time, even though I already know it’s fine. “Big words from the captain of the PD team who ate ice during last year’s Maplewood Cup final.”
Tucker chuckles and lets his cruiser roll slowly past, calling out again before he disappears from view. “Missed a spot!”
“Oh, his ego is definitely still recovering from last year,” Fletch says with a grin. “Clearly hasn’t come to terms with it.”
“Come to terms with what?” Colt asks. “Pretty sure you ate ice too—in front of your own net.”
“That was tactical.”
“That was you forgetting how to skate.”
Fletch points a rag at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Unfortunately.”
Boots hit the bay behind us and Beck appears, pausing momentarily as he glances at the speakers still playing Fletcher’s Spice Girls playlist. “You all done?”
“We’re discussing strategy,” Fletch says. “The Maplewood Cup starts in a few weeks, and we need to make plans.”
“Plan on getting better, then.”
I snort and take a step back, letting my eyes run over everything without really thinking about it.
The lines are clean, and my gear’s set. For a second, everything feels quiet and calm. Which are absolutelynotthe words to think during shift, but I can’t deny it’s almost peaceful. Just the low hum of the station and the Spice Girls still playing in the background.
And then the tones drop.
Beck’s already heading for the truck. “Engine.”
Fletch ditches the rag mid-step and rounds the front of the engine at a jog. Colt moves with him, grabbing his jacket off the hook and shrugging it on in one clean motion as he goes.
I’m already reaching for mine, hauling it on and yanking the zip up as I move toward the back step, the familiar weight settling across my shoulders. I grab my helmet without looking, Ghost right behind me.
None of us are talking, because none of us need to. It’s just second nature to spring into action as soon as we hear the bells, and everyone knows their role.
The engine turns over immediately, and we’re rolling out of the bay in seconds.
“Dispatch, Engine One responding,” Beck says into the radio.
“Engine One, respond to automatic alarm—Maplewood Elementary School.”
Fletch’s grip tightens slightly on the wheel as he pulls us onto the main road, eyes flicking between mirrors and traffic.
The wordschooltwists something tight in my chest, logic be damned. Elle isn’t there. I know she’s safe at Herb and Leah’s. But knowing it doesn’t fully calm the immediate, irrational tension that coils around my ribs. I lean forward slightly, eyes on the road ahead.
“School’s closed,” Fletcher says, more statement than question.
“Yeah,” Colt replies from beside him. “Still a school, though.”
He exhales through his nose as we pick up speed. “Calling it now—it’ll be something dumb.”
“Let’s hope,” I mutter.
“Eyes on the road,” Beck says.
Ghost straps in across from me, calm as ever. “Could be maintenance.”
“Could be someone forgot how heating works,” Fletcher adds.
