The blare of the klaxon rattled the empty hangar. Today's "live" drill had been billed as a routine search-and-rescue—but as soon as we stepped inside, I realized Routine was a lie.

A dense fog machine had kicked in, reducing visibility to a few feet. The air tasted metallic—simulated gas leak at 2 percent concentration—and my SCBA's warning light pulsed red. Voices crackled over the radio: "Victim in Sector B! Collapse imminent in Sector C!"

Rafe was at my side before I even processed the orders. We'd been paired together for the exercise: one civilian ("victim") and one injured firefighter mannequin to locate, stabilize, and extract—under time pressure and simulated structural failure.

Our starting point was a narrow corridor lined with unstable beams. The moment we entered, a violent shake rolled the floorboards—mimicking aftershocks. Dust cascaded from the ceiling. I gripped Rafe's arm.

"We need to split up," he yelled, voice muffled by his mask. "I'll take the civilian in Sector B. You head to Sector C for the medic. Then meet at the exit."

My heart thumped at the thought of racing through this maze alone, but I forced myself forward. "Be careful," I called.

He gave a sharp nod and disappeared into the grey.

Technique gave way to instinct as I followed the directional taps on my glove lining. Every step was agony—my lungs burning, my mind screaming that I should've stayed with him. The corridor forked. A deep groan echoed behind me. A wall panel buckled outward.

Time: 2:15 (of 3:00 minutes)

I swallowed panic and pivoted toward Sector C. There, half-buried under a twisted support beam, lay the mannequin medic, a bright orange vest peeking through debris. I dropped to my knees and worked the quick-release strap on his pack.

Behind me, another tremor shook the hall. A ceiling pipe cracked, sending sparks raining down. My gloved hand froze on the release. If I didn't move, the beam would crush him.

Time: 1:30

I heaved with everything I had, sweat stinging my eyes. The beam shifted just enough; I slid the medic free and slung him over my shoulder. My legs trembled as I staggered back toward the fork—toward the exit.

A second quake rippled through the hangar. Debris fell, blocking my path. My chest tightened. I couldn't get out alone.

Then I heard a rasping breath at my back. Rafe emerged from the smoke, flames flickering in his HUD light. He dropped beside me and, without a word, took the medic from my arms. His strength steadied me.

"Go!" he mouthed.

We sprinted down the corridor, smoke growing thicker. Through a mesh grille I spotted the civilian—Zoe's mannequin—tangled in hoses. Rafe sliced the straps while I cleared the hoses. Together, we dragged her into the hall just as the ceiling groaned overhead.

Time: 30 seconds

The exit loomed. I grabbed Rafe's elbow, and we bolted through just as a simulated collapse blocked the entry behind us. Alarms shrieked.

We fell to our knees outside, masks off, gasping for real air. My helmet clattered to the ground. Rafe looked at me, chest heaving, eyes bright behind soot.

"You okay?" he panted.

I nodded, the reality of our success washing over me. "Yeah. Thanks to you."

He shook his head, expression softening. "Thanks to you—for pushing through."

For the first time, I believed him. In the heat of danger, our grudging respect had melted into something stronger: trust. And as we hauled the two "victims" to safety, I realized that together, we were unstoppable—two firefighters rising under pressure, rising as one.