By the end of the week, the wildfire wasn't just online—it was in the station.

Reporters camped outside the gates. Protesters with homemade signs shouted her name during shift changes. Calls that should've been routine became battlegrounds of trust, civilians second-guessing every command she gave.

Chief Ramirez called her into his office one evening, his face carved with exhaustion. "Cadet Vassar. You're a distraction. I can't have my crew divided in the middle of a blaze. You need to... step back."

Her heart clenched, but she didn't argue. Because deep down, she knew he was right.

The transfer papers were waiting the next morning. Temporary assignment to Station 19—smaller, rural, far outside the city's spotlight. She packed her gear in silence, her badge suddenly heavier than ever.

The goodbyes were quiet. Quinn hugged her tight. Cade gave her a fist bump, muttering, "Prove them wrong." Even Zoe, who rarely showed emotion, touched her shoulder gently.

But it was Rafe who undid her.

He cornered her by the engine bay doors, eyes shadowed. "You don't have to go. Not like this."

"I do," she whispered. "The fire's eating at everything here. I need distance before it burns me alive."

His jaw tightened. "And what about us?"

Her throat worked. "We'll survive the distance. If it's real, we have to."

The ache in his eyes nearly broke her. But he nodded, stepping back. "Then don't stay gone too long. Because this station isn't the same without you."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, shouldered her duffel, and walked out into the night.

Station 19 was nothing like home. No city sirens. No constant scrutiny. Just a skeleton crew of veterans and rookies who didn't know her name—or her scandal.

For the first time in months, she breathed without fire on her back.

But as she stared at her new bunk, Celeste realized this wasn't freedom.

It was exile.