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If Hudson had woken up and told me to leave, I would have left. I would’ve cried until dehydration became a legitimate medical concern, but I would have gone.

Instead, he had held me.

I glanced at him again, tracking the tension in his shoulders as he navigated the crowd. He caught me looking. One eyebrow rose in a silent, familiar question—You okay?

Instead of looking away, I offered him a reassuring smile before turning my attention back to the folding table where I had arranged water bottles, clean towels, and small paper cups of electrolyte drinks. After the time we’d spent together and the rhythms we’d developed, we didn’t always need words to check in on each other.

Patty bumped her shoulder against mine as she grabbed a water bottle. “You know he loves it when you do that, right?”

“Do what?” I asked, keeping my tone light.

“Look at him like he’s the only person in the room,” she said, her voice laced with fond teasing. She glanced at my bruises and injured arm. “You should sit down.”

“I’ve been sitting.”

“When?”

“Recently.”

Patty twisted the cap off a bottle and handed it to me. I drank because arguing with her required more energy than complying. Across the yard, Hudson was watching us. I lifted the bottle as proof. His lips twitched. The small reaction warmed me all the way through.

The council responders finally cleared the neighboring house for re-entry shortly before four. Hudson’s home required longer because residue had settled along the interior hallway and around the vents.

I joined two responders carrying fans from the hall.

One of them stopped me near the porch. “You shouldn’t be lifting anything else.”

“I’m fine.”

“You have a cut arm, bruising, smoke irritation, and probable muscle strain.”

I sighed. “Those sound worse when you list them together like that.” I adjusted my grip on the fan. “Will this help air out the house?”

“Yes.”

“Then where do you want it?”

The responder studied me for a moment before pointing toward the kitchen. “Near the broken window. Angle it outward.”

I carried it inside. The rooms looked different now that the smoke had cleared.

Broken glass covered the floor. Furniture had shifted during the rescue. Water overflowed from the kitchen sink where I had drowned the smoke canister, leaving the cabinet doors swollen along the bottom.

Hilary stood in the doorway behind me wearing protective gloves.

“You don’t need to do this,” she said.

I set down the fan. “I know.”

Her gaze moved over the room. For the first time since I met her, she looked uncertain about what to say. That suited the day.

“I had you removed from the group chat,” she said.

“I noticed.”

“It wasn’t intended as punishment.”

“I understand why you did it. But it still felt like punishment.” I connected the fan to an extension cord. “You were protecting the pack.”