The engine bay was silent, save for the slow hiss of steam rising from their gear, laid out to dry after the last fire. Celeste stood at her locker, her hands still trembling faintly—not from fear, but from everything that had been said, and everything that hadn't.

Rafe approached, no longer the commanding officer with sharp orders and clipped tone. Tonight, he was just a man—tired, bruised, but real. And he stopped a few feet away, waiting.

"Still think we're a mistake?" she asked, her voice soft, but steady.

He shook his head slowly. "I think we're the most dangerous kind of right. The kind that starts slow... then spreads fast."

She smiled, the first genuine one in what felt like weeks. "We've been walking through fire together since day one. Feels like we've finally stopped trying to walk around it."

He stepped closer, gently taking her hand. "No more half-measures. You've had my back in the heat—now you've got it in the quiet too."

Celeste laced her fingers with his. "Then let's stop waiting for the perfect time. Let's start building something."

"Trust?" he asked.

She leaned in. "And whatever comes next."

There was no kiss. No sweeping romance moment. Just the warmth of two hearts that had been hardened by flames—and were finally softening in each other's hands.

That night, they didn't make promises.

They made plans.

Plans to investigate deeper. To uncover the truth behind the arson. To stand united—not just as partners in the firehouse, but as something more.

They weren't enemies. Not anymore.

They were allies with fire in their veins—and something worth fighting for.

Next chapter in 2 days – stay tuned!