"Someone that can walk through fire unchanged." James took a deep breath. "Someone that transcends normal human limits through pure will and absolute surrender to the flame."
"My father never surrendered to anything."
"No." James's fingers brushed my arm, the touch grounding us both. "And neither will you. That's what scares me most."
My apartment lock engaged with three solid clicks. I drew the blinds while James watched, his posture still too controlled and analytical despite the burn eating through his sleeve.
"Bathroom." I kept my voice steady. "Now."
"Marcus—"
"Don't." I grabbed my med kit from beneath the kitchen sink. "Just... don't."
He followed me. The bathroom's fluorescent light was harsh against his skin, revealing soot smudges I hadn't noticed in the street's shadows.
"Shirt off." I ran through assessment protocols in my head. "Careful with the fabric where it's stuck."
James started unbuttoning with those steady fingers of his but stopped halfway down. The burn had fused cotton to skin across his shoulder.
"Here." I stepped closer, reaching for his collar. "Let me."
"I can manage."
"Let me."
He exhaled slowly, then nodded once.
The fabric came away in careful stages. Each new inch of damaged skin made me flinch, knowing the kind of pain it caused. Second-degree burns spread across his shoulder like a topographic map of what I'd almost lost.
After cleaning the burns slowly and thoroughly, I turned to the dressing process. "Med kit's old." I unscrewed the burn gel cap, focusing on the technical aspects. I tried not to think about how many ways it could have been worse. "But the supplies are current."
"Of course they are." He attempted a bit of dry humor. "You probably inventory it weekly."
"Daily." I smoothed gel over the worst areas, watching him flinch. "After shift change."
He gasped as I hit a particularly raw spot. "Seems excessive."
"Necessary." My fingers trembled against his skin. "Especially now."
The bathroom was quiet except for our breathing and the soft sounds of medical supplies against the counter. James watched me work through the mirror, his eyes underlined by dark folds.
The rage that surged through me was volcanic. I had to force my fingers to stay gentle as I pressed a bandage into place.
"They're not getting near you again."
A humorless laugh came from James. "You can't guarantee that."
"Watch me."
He turned. The movement pulled at his burns, but he didn't flinch. "Marcus, you can't protect everyone."
"I'm not trying to protect everyone." I gripped his jaw with my free hand, thumb brushing ash from his cheek. "Just you."
My bedroom was almost too quiet after the chaos of the night. James stood by my window, his bandaged shoulder stark white against his skin. The city spread out beyond the glass, dark except for emergency lights spinning in the distance. It was another fire crew responding to another call. The job never stopped.
"You're staying here." My voice was firm, brooking no argument.
For once, he didn't try to maintain a professional distance. He merely nodded with a ghostly reflection visible in the window glass.
