I want to hear her voice again now. And while the station’s quiet, I tap her name to call back.
The tones drop.
It cuts through the room clean and sharp, and everything inside me shifts before I even register the sound fully. Chairs scrape. Beck is already on his feet. Fletch swears under his breath as he shoves all the food back into the fridge.
“Maplewood Fire, respond—”
The dispatcher’s voice rides over the speakers as we move, and I’m grabbing my turnouts before the address even finishes.
“Multiple reports of smoke visible near downtown. Caller reports hearing a female yelling from inside the structure. Caller no longer hears her.”
Shit.
I pull my suspenders over my shoulders and step into my boots in one motion.
“Location: Maple Hill Tower.”
For a second, all of us pause. The crooked silhouette of that tower flashes in my head—the way it leans just enough to make us all nervous. It’s been abandoned for years.
I don’t say anything, I don’t need to. We’re already moving, grabbing helmets and jackets. I check my radio out of habit.
“Copy,” Beck says calmly as we head for the bay. “Structure fire. Possible occupants.”
“Engine One, be advised,” the voice crackles over the radio, tighter now. “Possible person trapped, ground level. Smoke increasing.”
Across from me, Colt is already pulling his gloves on.
“Tower’s a nightmare inside,” he mutters. “Those stairs are narrow as hell.”
“We’ll vent quick,” Beck says from the front.
I stare straight ahead as we take the turn onto Main, and smoke is visible before we even crest the hill, climbing up past the crooked edge of the tower.
My pulse picks up, but it’s the kind that comes with the job. My focus narrows, and I go over what needs to be done in my head. There’s a possible person trapped—that’s the most significant thing right now.
We roll up the hillside at speed, the siren cutting just before we come to a halt. The doors swing open, and heat hits first.
It rolls off the brick in heavy waves as soon as my boots hit pavement, thick enough that I feel it through the turnout gear. Smoke is pushing hard from the upper windows, dark and dense and churning against the sky.
“Hydrant’s clear,” Fletch calls.
“Establish water supply,” Beck answers, already scanning the structure. “Primary search on entry. Colt, you’re vent.”
I’m moving toward the hose bed, mask hanging loose against me, when I see it.
Penny’s car.
Parked crooked along the curb, the front tire kissed up against the concrete like she meant to stop for five minutes and run back out.
For one impossible second, my brain refuses to understand what I’m looking at. It’s just a shape I know, a color I’ve memorized in parking lots and outside my house. My eyes lock on the car’s plate again. Maybe I’ve got it wrong somehow, but I know every scratch on that damn car.
Everything stops, because there’s no universe where I mistake that car.
“Penny,” I hear myself say, barely more than air.
I jerk back toward the tower, and my legs suddenly feel like cement. My body suddenly feels too slow for my brain to keep up with.
Dispatch reported a possible victim inside. Female. Screaming, but not anymore.
