16. Marcus

16

MARCUS

A few weeks later

The morning at Station 23 kicks off with the familiar clang of the alarm, signaling the start of our drills. It's the kind of sound that sends a jolt of adrenaline through your system, waking you up better than any coffee ever could.

"Alright, team, let's move!" I shout, my voice cutting through the air with the authority of a battle-hardened leader. There's no hesitation, no fumbling—just the smooth, practiced precision that comes from years of working together. We hustle into the engine bay, where the day's drill is laid out, a simulated fire rescue scenario complete with smoke machines and obstacle courses.

Theo's bouncing on his toes, the youngest of us, always eager to get started. "Today's the day I beat my record," he declares, flashing a confident grin.

"Dream on, Sparks," Ethan quips, adjusting his helmet. "You'll never be faster than Blaze here."

Will, ever the pragmatist, rolls his eyes. "Less talking, more moving. Let's see if you can actually follow through this time, Theo."

We line up, the drill instructor giving us the rundown. "Scenario. Residential fire, occupants trapped. You've got ten minutes to get in, locate the dummies, and bring them out safely. Remember, time and accuracy matter."

I nod, feeling the weight of leadership settle comfortably on my shoulders. "You heard the man. Let's do this."

We burst into action, splitting into teams. Ethan and Theo take the left side of the simulated building, while Will and I tackle the right. The air is thick with the manufactured smoke, visibility dropping to almost nothing. But we've trained for this. We move with purpose, our breathing steady through the masks.

"Stay close, and keep an eye on your buddy," I remind them over the radio. "We're in and out, no mistakes."

Theo's voice crackles back, filled with determination. "Got it, Cap. We're making our way through the first floor now."

Will and I navigate through the debris-strewn hallway, checking rooms systematically. "Clear," he says, moving to the next door.

"Keep it tight," I reply, my tone a mix of command and encouragement. "We're not leaving anyone behind."

Ethan's voice cuts through the static. "Found the first dummy. We're heading to the exit."

"Good work," I acknowledge, feeling a surge of pride in my team. "Theo, how's your side looking?"

"We've got one more room to check," he reports, his breath heavy but controlled.

Will and I move to the second floor, our movements synchronized. There's a dummy trapped under a fallen beam, the kind of scenario designed to test our strength and coordination. "We've got this," I say, setting my jaw. "On three. One, two, three!"

We lift the beam, freeing the dummy and securing it onto a stretcher. "Ready to move," I announce, leading the way back through the smoke-filled maze.

Outside, the sun feels blinding after the darkness of the drill. We emerge, breathing hard but victorious. "Time?" I demand, looking at the instructor.

"Eight minutes, thirty seconds," he replies, a note of admiration in his voice. "Not bad, Captain. Not bad at all."

"Damn right," I say, pulling off my helmet and wiping the sweat from my brow. "Good work, everyone."

We gather around, the camaraderie strong as we debrief. Theo's practically glowing with pride. "I told you I'd beat my record."

Ethan claps him on the back. "Alright, alright. You did good, kid."

Will's still catching his breath, but there's a rare smile on his face. "Next time, let's see if you can do it without all the chatter."

We head inside, the adrenaline still pumping. The smells of coffee and breakfast greet us, a reward for a job well done. "Let's eat," I say, leading the way. "We've earned it."

A few minutes later, we've all assembled in the kitchen.

"Hey, Big Mac, you gonna hog all the bacon again?" Ethan grins at me as he flips a pancake on the station's ancient griddle. He's got that trademark smirk on his face, the one that's gotten him into—and out of—more trouble than I can count.

"Only if you promise not to burn the pancakes this time, Blaze," I shoot back, grabbing a strip of bacon and popping it into my mouth. "Remember, some of us have taste buds."

"Touché, Captain." He laughs, shaking his head. "I'm just trying to keep us all fed."

Will, our brooding genius, sits at the table with a thick book in his hand—some Gothic romance novel he's been devouring lately. He looks up, his intense eyes twinkling with rare amusement. "I think you'd all survive on charred pancakes. Builds character."

Theo, the youngest and most energetic, is busy tinkering with some piece of equipment. He's always got a project, some way to make our lives easier or, occasionally, more complicated. "Hey, Cap, think I can install this new sensor on the engine? It'll cut down response times by at least twenty seconds."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "As long as it doesn't blow up in our faces, go for it, Sparks. Just don't test it on a live run."

We settle into breakfast, the camaraderie palpable. It's moments like these that remind me why I love this job—why I love these guys. We're more than a team. We're family.

"So, what's the plan for today?" Ethan asks, loading his plate with a stack of pancakes.

"Well," I start between sips of coffee, "we've got a community outreach event this afternoon. Gotta show the kids around, let them climb on the truck, scare the living daylights out of their parents with the sirens. Usual stuff."

Theo grins. "Nice. I love seeing their faces light up. Makes all the paperwork worth it."

"And speaking of paperwork," Will butts in, setting his book down, "I've been going over the budget proposals. We might actually get that new equipment we've been asking for."

"That's great news, Axe," I reply. Will's always the one with the numbers, the plans, the strategies. Without him, we'd be lost in a sea of red tape and bureaucracy.

"Yeah, and with that new sensor, we'll be even more of a well-oiled machine," Theo adds, looking proud of his latest invention.

I lean back, surveying my crew. "You guys are the best. Seriously. Couldn't ask for a better team."

"Careful, Cap. You're getting all mushy on us," Ethan teases, throwing a piece of pancake at me. I dodge it easily.

It feels good to have a rare slow day. The hours hum along, the usual mix of drills, maintenance, and friendly banter. We're in the middle of a particularly heated debate about the best BBQ sauce—Kansas City versus Texas—when the shrill tone of the Amber Alert pierces through the station. Instantly, every bit of lightheartedness evaporates, replaced by a tense, electric silence.

Ethan drops the wrench he's holding, his easy grin vanishing. "What's it say, Mac?" His voice is tight, every word a strain.

I glance at the screen, my gut twisting. The photo of a little girl, Sarah, just five years old, stares back at me. Her bright eyes and innocent smile are a stark contrast to the grim reality of the alert. The description includes notice of a suspicious van spotted near our district.

Will's expression, usually relaxed with a hint of mischief, hardens. "Damn," he mutters, his voice low. "This is the stuff of nightmares."

Theo, the perpetual joker, is uncharacteristically silent, his face pale. "We gotta find her," he says, voice barely above a whisper.

I scan the room, my gaze meeting each of theirs in turn. We're all thinking the same thing—this could be our kid. The fear, the urgency, it's palpable, a living, breathing entity that grips us all.

The steel walls of the firehouse can't keep out the chill. Not the physical one that clings to the air like a bad omen, but the one that gnaws at my insides. It's a familiar cold, one that has haunted me since the day Lily was born.

I think of my baby girl, her gap-toothed grin radiating pure joy. She's safe, I know.

I remember the day I held her for the first time, her tiny body swaddled in pink blankets. Vanessa never bonded with her. In fact, she blamed me for making her a mother when she wasn't ready.

Which was saying something because she was the one who wanted to start a family. I wanted to wait, to give it a few more years.

She was never around, not for the little milestones or the big ones. Lily was a massively colicky baby. The first few months were nothing but me holding her all night long, trying to burp her, trying to make sure the formula I gave her didn't upset her system, trying to be a different kind of soft.

But Lily was a fighter, just like her old man. She thrived despite the odds, her laughter filling the empty spaces in my life. I taught her to crawl, to walk, to talk. I was her protector, her provider, her everything.

Her mother never returned. Not for birthdays, not for holidays. But it didn't matter. We had each other.

It's how it will always be. I'm glad I got to do this solo, although it isn't something I would necessarily have chosen. I'm glad because I got to see how much love a tiny human being can hold. It's worth everything. It sums my whole existence.

I can't let anything happen to this kid.

"We need to move," I say tightly. "Let's find Sarah and get her home."

We're about to kick things into gear when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting another update from dispatch, but I see another name on the screen.

It's Ella.

Like clockwork, I remember something that makes my blood run cold. This morning, when I'd asked what the girls were planning to do, Ella had told me she planned on taking Lily out.

The van—it's in our district. There's a kidnapper at large. God knows how many children he's hurt.

My kid is out there. I'll be damned if I let anything happen to her.

Suddenly, a realization hits me with brute force. It's not just Lily, although she is everything to me. I also don't want anything to happen to Ella. In fact, I need her to be safe, untouched, unharmed.

This isn't how I'd feel for a nanny, not under the usual circumstances.

Goddammit.

I'm connecting too many dots, I assure myself as I move to the side to answer.