Chapter 1 Sam
SAM
“Morning, Cap,” Jack said without looking up, his deep voice laced with dry humor. “Or should I say afternoon? Heard you pulled an all-nighter saving the world. What’s it like being a hero?”
Sam rolled her eyes, setting her helmet and gear down with a thud. “Wouldn’t know. Just doing my job, Jack.”
Ben perked up like a puppy catching sight of a treat. “You were at the building collapse, right? Man, that sounded intense. How many did you pull out? Were there—”
“Ben,” Sam cut him off gently but firmly. “Take a breath.”
He grinned sheepishly but leaned forward, clearly not planning to back down entirely. “Okay, but seriously, how was it? I mean, I heard Harrington Memorial handled the trauma cases. Did you see any of the big shots over there? Like, who worked on that girl they pulled out?”
Sam tensed slightly at the mention of Lila. Her mind flashed to the young woman’s pale face, the fragile strength in her voice as she clung to consciousness. “Her name’s Lila,” she said, her voice softer now. “And yeah, Harrington Memorial handled it.”
Jack turned, holding out a steaming mug of coffee like a peace offering. “Don’t let him badger you, Cap. You know Ben’s just waiting to hear about some Hollywood-style heroics. Did a helicopter swoop in? Was there slow-motion debris falling around you?”
Ben groaned, throwing a couch pillow at him. “You’re the worst.”
Sam chuckled despite herself and accepted the coffee. “No helicopters. No slow-mo. Just a lot of hard work and a good team.”
“Anything on the hospital side?” Ben pressed, his curiosity refusing to die. “Like, who’s the best they’ve got over there? I heard that neurosurgeon—what’s her name? Harrington?—is a bit of a legend.”
Sam froze for a moment, the image of Roz Harrington striding into the ER flashing unbidden in her mind. Roz with her piercing green eyes, her choppy pink hair, and her razor-sharp confidence that both impressed and irritated Sam. She shook her head, brushing the thought aside.
“They were competent,” she said simply, taking a sip of her coffee. “Did their jobs.”
Jack raised an eyebrow at her clipped tone but didn’t press. “Well, sounds like you did too. Another day, another life saved.”
Ben leaned back, finally conceding. “Still sounds pretty badass to me.”
Sam smiled faintly and glanced around the firehouse.
The familiar buzz of the place, the easy camaraderie, and the order of their routine felt grounding.
It was a stark contrast to the chaos of the collapse and the hospital.
But even as she settled into the rhythm of the firehouse, her mind couldn’t quite let go of Lila or the striking, infuriating surgeon who had taken over her care.
Later that morning, Sam retreated to the small office tucked away in the corner of the firehouse.
The room was sparsely decorated, practical like everything else about her, just a sturdy desk, a bulletin board cluttered with shift schedules, and a chair that creaked when she leaned back.
She closed the door, welcoming the temporary solitude as she let out a deep breath.
Her coffee mug sat untouched on the desk, steam curling lazily in the air.
She stared at it, but her mind wasn’t in the room.
It was back in the rubble, back with Lila.
The young woman’s face lingered vividly in her memory, pale and streaked with blood, her voice shaking as she tried to hold on to consciousness.
“You’re going to have a lot more stories to draw, Lila,” Sam had said to her, gripping her hand tightly. The words had been meant to comfort, but they felt like a promise Sam wasn’t sure she could keep.
She ran a hand through her short hair, sighing.
Lila had been so vulnerable, so scared, and yet so determined to survive.
Sam had felt it in the way she clung to her words, the way she’d tried to smile even through the pain.
It wasn’t the first time she’d connected with a victim—part of her job was being a lifeline, after all—but something about Lila had stuck.
And then there was her.
Sam’s jaw tightened as she leaned back in her chair.
Dr. Rosalind Harrington. The name alone was enough to stir a mix of emotions she wasn’t ready to unpack.
She could still see Roz striding into the ER, sharp green eyes cutting through the chaos, that short, choppy pink hair somehow fitting her perfectly.
Roz had taken charge of Lila’s case without hesitation, her voice calm but commanding as she issued orders like she was orchestrating a symphony.
Sam’s fists clenched briefly on the desk. Commanding, yes, but also dismissive. Roz had barely acknowledged her when she’d asked about Lila, her response clinical and impersonal: “If she has a chance, I’ll find it.” It had felt like a brush-off, like Sam’s concern didn’t matter.
It had infuriated her.
But…it had also impressed her.
Sam frowned, hating the conflict brewing in her chest. Roz’s confidence was undeniable, her skill apparent in every decisive move she’d made.
Watching her take control had been like witnessing a force of nature, something sharp and brilliant that demanded attention, whether you wanted to give it or not.
Still, there was no denying Roz’s methods were risky.
Sam had seen enough to recognize a gamble when it was being made, and Roz had walked that line with an ease that made Sam’s stomach churn.
What if she’d been wrong? What if Lila hadn’t survived?
The thought sent a pang of anger and something else, something closer to fear, through her chest.
She sighed again, scrubbing a hand over her face.
She didn’t know why Roz bothered her so much.
Maybe it was the way she’d taken over, leaving Sam feeling sidelined in a situation she cared so deeply about.
Or maybe it was something harder to admit, the way Roz’s sharp edges and quiet brilliance had caught her attention, lingering in her mind long after they’d parted ways.
Sam shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. She told herself it was professional frustration, nothing more. Roz Harrington was reckless, and recklessness didn’t sit well with her. That was all there was to it.
But as she stared out the window, her eyes tracing the skyline, Sam knew she wasn’t being entirely honest with herself. Something about Roz had stuck, and no matter how hard she tried to let it go, the image of those piercing green eyes and that unshakable confidence refused to leave her alone.
She exhaled heavily, muttering under her breath, “Why the hell does she have to be so damn good?”
The creak of the firehouse’s front door interrupted her thoughts, followed by the hum of voices from the crew. Shaking off the unease settling over her, Sam stood, pushing the lingering image of Roz Harrington to the back of her mind. For now.
The sharp, jarring blare of the fire alarm shattered the quiet, pulling Sam from her thoughts. She was on her feet in an instant, her boots pounding against the floor as she hurried to the bay. The familiar rush of adrenaline surged through her veins, replacing introspection with action.
“Let’s move!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the commotion as her team scrambled into position.
Jack and Ben were already climbing into the engine, their movements fluid with practiced efficiency.
Sam pulled on her gear, her mind zeroing in on the situation as the dispatcher’s voice crackled through the radio.
“Residential fire reported at 3419 Sycamore Street. Possible occupants inside. Respond immediately.”
The truck roared to life, its siren piercing the air as they sped through the streets. Sam’s sharp blue eyes scanned the surroundings, her mind running through possible scenarios. Minor fires could escalate quickly if mishandled, and the thought of someone being trapped solidified her resolve.
When they arrived at the scene, smoke billowed out of the second story of a modest two-story home. A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, their faces pale with worry. Sam’s gaze swept the crowd as she jumped down from the truck.
“Has everyone made it out?” she called to a neighbor.
“Don’t think so!” came the reply. “The family’s kid is still in there!”
Sam’s heart clenched, but her voice stayed steady. “We’ll get them out. Stand back, please.”
She turned to her team, her tone sharp and commanding. “Jack, Ben, with me. Team Two, secure the perimeter and start ventilation. Let’s move.”
They moved like a well-oiled machine, entering the smoke-filled house with practiced precision. Sam took point, her powerful frame leading the way as she called out, “Fire department! Anyone inside?”
A faint cough answered her from somewhere upstairs. Without hesitation, Sam pushed forward, her team following close behind. The heat pressed against her, but she focused only on the sound, zeroing in on a small, frightened child huddled in a corner of a bedroom.
“You’re okay, buddy,” Sam said softly, crouching down to meet the child’s wide, tear-streaked eyes. “We’re going to get you out of here.”
She scooped the child up, holding them close as she guided her team back down the stairs and out of the house. Once outside, she handed the child to a waiting paramedic, her voice calm despite the adrenaline surging through her. “Mild smoke inhalation, but they should be fine.”
The fire was contained quickly after that, her team dousing the flames efficiently.
As they packed up their gear and the smoke began to clear, Sam took a moment to glance back at the house.
The scene was eerily reminiscent of the building collapse, the rush of saving lives and the weight of responsibility settling heavy on her shoulders.