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"Austin is coming because Iris is dragging him," I pointed out.

Chase laughed. "True. But he’s still coming. Come on, man. The twins are doing this new thing where they hold hands and scream at the same time. It’s terrifying and yet adorable."

Harper pulled her phone from her pocket. "Wait, I have a video. You have to see this."

She tapped the screen and held it up to my face. On the small screen, Cameron and Claire were sitting in a double high chair, covered in what looked like pureed carrots as they waved chubby toddler hands in the air. Finn was standing next to them and making funny faces. The twins erupted in a synchronized, gurgling laughter that sounded like bubbles popping underwater.

As I watched the video, the fire station disappeared. The hum of the lights faded. A physical ache bloomed in the center of my chest, a hollow point that expanded every time I saw the life my siblings had built. I smiled. I couldn’t help it. "They’re getting big."

"Huge," Harper said, watching my face closely. "They need their uncle to teach them how to be brooding and stoic. Austin is too scary. Finn is entirely too cheerful. We need you to balance out the gene pool." She lowered the phone. "Seven o’clock, Ben. Sunday. Please."

I stared at them. Harper, with her fierce, demanding love. Chase, with his easy acceptance. They were a unit. A closed circle of warmth. If I went, I would watch them all be happy, and I would feel that familiar, cold pane of glass separating me from them.

"I’ll check the roster." I gave the standard deflection. "We’ve been short-staffed with the flu going around."

Harper sighed, a short, sharp exhale through her nose. She knew I was lying.

"Okay. Check the roster.” She stepped in again, rising on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. "Don’t work too hard. Okay? The island won’t sink if you take a nap."

"I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the risotto," I added, glancing at the Tupperware.

"Eat the bread first," she commanded, already turning back to the truck. "Love you, Ben."

"Love you too, Harper."

Chase gave me a two-finger salute. "Stay dry, brother."

They hurried into the rain and climbed back into the truck. The engine turned over, and the headlights swept across the bay again, illuminating the rows of hanging turnout gear like headless sentinels. I hit the button on the wall and the bay doors rattled downward, chasing the taillights into the rain. When the metal edges hit the concrete with a final thud, the silence rushed back in. But it wasn’t the peaceful, ordered silence from before. Now it felt empty.

I picked up the stack of Tupperware and walked through the heavy steel door into the station kitchen. It was empty, smelling of industrial-strength lemon cleaner and the ghost of a dozen burnt dinners. I shoved the risotto into the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water.

Gator was in the day room next door, perched on one of the oversized leather recliners and tapping one foot rhythmically. My partner, a twenty-four-year-old kid named Kyle Vega who everyone called Gator because he’d once tried to wrestle a juvenile reptile out of a swimming pool and lost, was damn-near vibrating. He wore his Class B uniform, but he’d clearly spent time recently on his dark brown hair. It was gelled into a rigid wave that defied gravity as he checked his watch every three seconds.

"What’s your hurry?" I asked, leaning back against the counter.

Gator jumped and gave a squawk. "Jesus, Ben. You move like a ninja. I didn’t see you there."

"Hard to see anything when you’re staring at your wrist."

He grinned, a nervous, lopsided expression. "Big night, man. I’ve got a date. Meeting her at the dive bar on Big Pine at ten-thirty. This girl... she’s strictly top shelf. She manages a jewelry store in Key West."

I arched a brow. "And she’s meeting you at a dive bar?"

"It keeps expectations low. It’s a strategy." Gator glanced at the large digital clock on the wall. The red numbers read 9:42 PM. "Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes and Miller walks through that door and I am free. We’re free."

I took a swig of water. "Relax. Miller’s never late."

"I know, I know." Gator launched to his feet and padded to the window. He stared at the rain slashing sideways through the security lights. "Man, I can’t believe it. I mean, look at this weather."

"What about the weather?" I asked. My stomach tightened. I knew what was coming. I wanted to tackle him before the words left his mouth, but I was too far away.

“Best news possible.” He nodded with his chin out the window. "All this rain. The tourists are tucked in bed and the locals are home. It’s been totally quiet all shift. We’re gonna⁠—"

The word hit the floor like a live grenade.

Quiet.

It bounced off the concrete walls. It echoed off the furniture. It was a curse, a summons, and a personal insult to the gods of chaos who ruled the Overseas Highway.