The heat from the fire still clung to our skin, but the adrenaline had faded. Now, in the engine bay's dim afterglow, it was just us—and the silence we'd been avoiding.

I sat on the tailgate of the truck, boots swinging lightly above the floor, a towel draped over my shoulders. Rafe leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, but for once, his posture wasn't guarded. It was heavy.

"You ever wonder," he said quietly, "what would've happened if you'd picked another path?"

I looked over. "All the time."

He nodded slowly. "I picked mine when I was seventeen. Too much anger. Too much to prove."

He stepped closer, and for the first time, I saw it—not just the quiet strength he wore like armor, but the fracture lines beneath it.

"It was my first fatal call," he said, voice low. "We were in a two-story walk-up. Apartment fire. My partner, Jake, went in to clear the second floor. I was backing the line."

He swallowed hard.

"I didn't see the signs. Flashover hit the top level. Roof caved. He didn't come out."

I blinked. "You couldn't have known—"

"I should've," he said, jaw tight. "I hesitated. Maybe a second. Maybe two. I kept telling myself we had time. That he had it under control. That I'd go in if I had to."

"And by the time you did," I whispered.

"It was too late."

He looked at me then, and there was no storm in his eyes—just the wreckage after it.

"I made a promise at his funeral," he said. "That no matter how hard it got, I'd never leave someone behind again. Not in a fire. Not in a fight. Not even in silence."

He stepped forward, close enough now that I could feel the tremble in his breath.

"So when I met you, Celeste—and I saw you running toward danger, chasing ghosts, carrying more than your share—I broke my own rule."

"What rule?"

He exhaled. "Don't get close. Don't care too much. Don't let someone in who might not come back."

My heart squeezed.

"But here you are," he murmured, "still walking through the flames. And I keep finding myself right beside you."

I reached for his hand. Not to pull him in—just to let him know I was there.

"I'm not going anywhere, Rafe."

And this time, when he leaned into me, it wasn't the fire we were trying to escape.

It was the past we were finally learning to walk through—together.