The sun hung low in the sky, painting the drill yard in a wash of amber as I tightened the straps on my SCBA mask. Sweat beaded at my hairline, and the crisp morning air already smelled faintly of smoke. Today's exercise was a "zero-visibility" obstacle course: crawl through a maze of metal panels, over barriers, under low-hanging pipes, and locate three hidden "victims," all while navigating complete darkness and a simulated gas leak.

I glanced at Rafe as he performed a final check on his own gear. His posture was relaxed—like he'd done this a thousand times. My stomach twisted. I forced myself to inhale deeply, reminding myself that every firefighter had started somewhere. Even Rafe McAllister.

Lieutenant Harris blew his whistle sharply. "Cadets, to your starting box!" His voice rattled in the hush that fell over the yard. Dozens of pairs of boots shuffled into position, but all I could hear was the pounding of my own heart.

I dropped into the open-fronted wooden cube marked with my name. It felt like a coffin. I pressed my back against the wall, listening for the signal.

"Go!"

The front panel swung open with a bang. I stepped out and immediately pressed my hand to the left wall, following the taped guideline. Total darkness swallowed me whole. I could hear faint hisses—gas simulant feeding the hidden nozzles—and knew that if I made one wrong turn, I risked inhaling a lungful of irritant.

"Stay calm," I whispered to myself, recalling Rafe's steady voice from yesterday's blindfold drill.

I edged forward, the floor slick beneath my knees. My gloved hand found a low barrier and I vaulted over, knees scraping. Pain shot through my skin, but I forced myself on. A muffled cough echoed ahead. A "victim" was close.

"Here," I called, crouching beside a prone training mannequin. Its vinyl eyes stared blankly upward. I clamped my arms under its shoulders and turned—only to slam into a metal panel I hadn't anticipated. The dummy slipped, and I stumbled backward, panicking as I realized I was off course.

A sudden flare of light cut through the darkness—an emergency light went live, signaling a gas-ignition drill. Real flame flickered just ahead. My breath caught. This was the part they didn't warn you about: if you hesitated, the fireball would ignite the gas-rich air. I pressed myself flat against the wall, heart racing.

"Cadet Vassar!" Rafe's voice boomed somewhere in the maze. "Ten seconds until ignition!"

I swallowed hard and jerked the dummy upright, staggering toward the glow. Sparks popped at the barrier's edge, and then—whoosh!—a ring of fire burst to life beneath the pipes. Heat lashed my mask, and the rubber seal glowed red. I felt it through the suit: a pulse of pure intensity that made my vision blur.

Instinct overrode fear. I leaned into the blaze, fists clenched, and shoved the dummy across the scorched floor. The metal walls radiated heat like a furnace, but I kept moving, guided by Rafe's distant shouts.

"Right! Five seconds!"

I whipped a hand to my mask's HUD light switch—our one concession to safety—and stabbed at it. A dim beam illuminated the path ahead, every swirl of smoke visible in the cone of light. I spotted the exit archway and the final mannequin collapsed against its frame.

I lifted it in one motion, heart hammering in my ears, and charged toward the exit. Behind me, the fireball arched menacingly, chasing me like a beast. My boots hit the threshold and I tumbled onto the yard's concrete, crunching gravel under my weight.

Steel hands grabbed the dummy from me before I could drop it entirely. I gasped for air, ripping off my mask and coughing into the open sky. Rafe knelt beside me, one hand on my shoulder, the other on the dummy's back to steady it.

"Three seconds to spare," he said quietly, voice steady despite the smoke curling at his collar. "Not bad."

I coughed again, winced, and looked at him through tears of irritation and relief. "I thought I was going to burn to a crisp."

He offered me a quick, droll smile. "You would have, if I hadn't kept count." His gaze flicked briefly to my scraped knee, then back up, assessing. "You did good."

Pride bloomed in my chest even as the afterburn of panic still burned through my veins. "Thanks."

Behind us, the other cadets cheered—half genuine, half ritual. Lieutenant Harris strode over, clipboard in hand, eyes narrowed.

"Well," he said, voice low. "Seems like you two make quite the team—when you're not fighting to kill each other." He tapped his pen against the board thoughtfully. "Vassar, ten demerits for using your HUD light without permission. McAllister, five for not reporting it before the drill."

Rafe let out a soft groan. I bit my lip to hide my grin. Together, we stood up and brushed ash from our gear.

As we headed back toward the station, side by side, I dared to glance at him. The brief camaraderie in his eyes warmed me more than any drill ever could. We might be far from lovers now, but for the first time, I felt like I was exactly where I belonged—standing beside the man who'd saved me, learning how to save myself.