Page 43 of Smoke Signals

The firehouse hasn’t changed.

Same scuffed floors, same battered kitchen table, same half-broken chair nobody throws out because it’s somehow survived three captains and two remodels. The place holds history in every corner whether anyone admits it or not.

I step through the bay doors and stop. Coming back without gear on still sits wrong in my chest, like I showed up for something important and forgot the part of me that belongs here.

Ladder 99 rests in its usual spot, chrome catching the overhead lights in dull flashes.

I put my hand flat against the side panel.

Yeah. I missed this.

“You gonna kiss it or just stand there looking emotional?”

Phoenix’s voice carries across the bay, amused and loud enough to echo. I glance over my shoulder and find him leaning against the engine, coffee in one hand, grin already loaded.

“Depends,” I say, pushing off the truck. “You gonna cry if I do?”

“Only if you make it weird.”

“Everything’s weird with you.”

He pushes off the engine and walks over, boots thudding against the concrete. He looks me over in that quick, assessing way firefighters get used to doing.

“You look less busted,” he says.

“High praise.”

“How’s the shoulder?”

I roll it once, slowly, testing. The joint pulls tight but not sharp, more like a reminder than a warning.

“Better,” I say. “Still not one hundred.”

“PT still kicking your ass?”

“Every other day.”

He nods like that’s the only acceptable answer.

Behind him Sterling is at the long table, massive arms folded, watching the exchange without saying anything. August is digging through the fridge like he expects food to magically appear if he looks hard enough.

Nothing’s changed.

I didn’t realize how much I missed the noise until it’s around me again.

Grayson Cole steps out of his office a second later, presence filling the space without him raising his voice.

“Daniels”

I straighten automatically, shoulders squaring on instinct. “Captain.”

His eyes sweep over me, not unkind, just thorough. “You here for your update?”

“Yes, sir.”

He gestures toward the office. “Come on.”

I sit across from his desk, hands resting on my knees because anything else feels wrong.