Chapter 3
The rhythmic thud of Maya’s fists against the punching bag was the only sound in the station gym.
The air was thick, the scent of sweat and rubber lingering, but Maya barely noticed.
She was too focused.
Or maybe—
She was desperately trying to be.
Her body moved on instinct, each punch landing with sharp precision, each impact a dull echo in her bones.
She had been at this for too long.
Her knuckles throbbed beneath the wraps, sweat dripped down her temple, her arms ached—
But she didn’t stop.
Couldn’t.
Because stopping meant thinking.
Stopping meant remembering.
And remembering meant reliving it all over again.
She threw another punch—hard, sharp, punishing.
Then another.
And another.
Each strike against the bag was a silent war—her own body fighting against itself, trying to outrun the ghosts she refused to acknowledge.
But they were always there.
Lurking.
Waiting.
Her heart pounded violently against her ribs, her breathing coming too fast, too shallow—but not enough.
It was never enough.
Her mind kept drifting back to the fire.
To the heat.
To the moment her body had frozen, her mind had shut down, her hands had refused to move.
She had never frozen before.
She had always been in control.
But now, that control was slipping—cracking beneath the weight of the memories she had buried deep, the ones she refused to let in, let win, let ruin her.
She gritted her teeth, letting out a sharp breath as she threw another punch—harder than the last.
The bag swung violently on its chain, the impact rattling her arms, but still—
It wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough.
Because no matter how hard she fought, how hard she punished herself, the wildfire was still there, curling around the edges of her mind like it was waiting to swallow her whole again.
She wasn’t in control.
She was spiraling.
And deep down—
She knew it.
"You've been at this for an hour."
Maya’s breath hitched.
She hadn’t heard Andy come in.
She didn’t like that.
Didn’t like being caught in a moment where she wasn’t prepared to mask herself properly.
She exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders before throwing one more punch for good measure.
"I'm fine," she muttered, wiping the sweat from her forehead.
Andy crossed her arms, leaning against the wall, her eyes unreadable.
"Yeah," she said, voice light but pointed. "Because punching the life out of a bag at seven in the morning screams 'fine.'"
Maya forced a smirk, reaching for her water bottle.
"Some of us actually like to train," she said, taking a sip.
Andy didn’t laugh.
Didn’t play along.
Instead, she studied Maya carefully, eyes narrowed, searching, seeing too much.
"You’ve been off," she finally said. "For weeks now."
Maya stiffened.
"I’m fine," she repeated, this time firmer, almost a warning.
Andy tilted her head.
"You sure about that?"
Maya’s fingers tightened around her bottle.
"You really wanna do this?" she muttered. "Because I’d rather not have a heart-to-heart at the station gym."
Andy exhaled through her nose, watching Maya for another beat before switching gears.
"How’s Carina?" she asked, voice lighter. "Everything okay after… y’know."
Maya forced a small, easy smile.
"We’re good," she said. "She’s been tired, but—" she shrugged, "that’s pregnancy for you."
Andy didn’t look convinced.
But before she could push any further—
The alarm rang.
The station had been called to a two-story townhouse fire—nothing out of the ordinary, nothing Maya hadn’t done a hundred times before.
She stood near the truck, adjusting her mask, her hands steady as she secured her gear.
The structure was still holding, but thick smoke curled from the windows, creeping through the cracks like it was alive, like it had its own will.
The moment she stepped forward, heat rushed against her face, the fire inside the house glowing against the early morning sky.
It should have been easy.
It was supposed to be easy.
But the second she crossed the threshold, something shifted.
The thick, curling smoke, the oppressive heat, the way the air clung to her skin—it was too much, too familiar, too wrong.
Her heart stuttered, her grip on the hose tightening.
The flames danced along the walls, crawling toward the ceiling, consuming everything in their path.
She could hear the crackling, the hissing of embers, the distant groan of weakened wood—
And suddenly, she wasn’t in this house anymore.
She was back there.
The sky was red and black, thick clouds of smoke stretching for miles, swallowing everything.
The heat was blistering, pressing against her like a living, breathing thing.
The trees had turned into monsters, their limbs charred and broken, flames licking at their bark as they collapsed one by one.
The air was too thick, too heavy, making her lungs burn with every breath.
She had radioed for help, but the words had vanished into static, drowned out by the relentless roar of the fire.
And she had known.
She had known in that moment that she wasn’t getting out.
That she would die here.
That Carina would never know what had happened to her, never get to say goodbye, never.
Someone was shouting her name.
Loud, desperate, urgent.
She couldn’t process it.
Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, her chest tightening, tightening, tightening—
The fire in front of her blurred with the one in her mind.
Everything spun.
The ceiling groaned, a loud crack splintering through the building.
A wooden beam collapsed, crashing through the center of the room, sending up a burst of embers.
Maya took a stumbling step back, gripping the nozzle harder.
Move.
Do something.
But her body wouldn’t listen.
Her radio crackled—
"Bishop! Status check!"
She tried to answer.
Tried to say something, anything—
But the words caught in her throat.
Smoke curled around her, filling her lungs, searing against her skin.
It felt exactly the same as before.
Like she was being swallowed whole.
She gasped, inhaling nothing but burning air, her lungs screaming in protest.
And suddenly, her vision tunneled.
Her knees buckled.
Her pulse thundered in her ears, her head spinning, the heat suffocating her.
She staggered but couldn’t find her balance, her legs weak, her muscles giving out beneath her.
The world tilted.
She collapsed.
The radio was still buzzing, voices breaking through the haze—
But she couldn’t make out the words anymore.
The fire was too loud.
It was everywhere.
It was inside her.
Her eyelids felt too heavy.
Her lungs burned with every half-breath.
A deep, primal part of her knew—
If she closed her eyes now, she might not wake up again.
No.
Not like this.
But she was too tired to fight it.
Too tired to keep running.
She let the darkness take her.
The operating room was too bright, too cold, too tense.
Carina’s hands moved instinctively, precise and steady, even as her heart raced.
The baby’s heart rate was dropping fast.
Too fast.
“Cord prolapse,” she announced, her voice sharp but controlled. “We need to go in. Now.”
The nurses moved quickly, prepping the incision site.
Carina barely registered the beeping monitors, the murmured responses—
All she could hear was the baby’s heartbeat slowing down.
This wasn’t the first emergency C-section she had performed.
But today, she felt off.
Like something inside her was too tight, too wound up, ready to snap.
Carina shook it off, forcing herself to focus.
She couldn't afford to think about anything else right now.
She had a baby to save.
She took a deep breath, making the incision with practiced ease.
Minutes stretched on, tense, critical—
And then—
A cry.
The room exhaled all at once.
The baby was breathing, moving, alive.
Carina let out a soft, relieved breath, feeling the tension in her body ease just slightly.
The nurses took over, checking the newborn, murmuring reassurances.
The mother—still drowsy from the anesthesia—gave a weak, relieved smile as Carina gently touched her shoulder.
“Your baby is okay,” she said softly. “You both are.”
The mother nodded slowly, her eyes damp with silent gratitude.
Carina smiled back, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Because no matter how many lives she saved today -
Her mind was still somewhere else.
Still with Maya.
Carina barely made it out of the OR before a familiar voice slid into the space beside her.
“You know, saving lives looks really good on you.”
Carina sighed before she even turned around.
Amelia Shepherd was grinning, her eyes bright, teasing—mischievous.
Carina rolled her eyes, peeling off her gloves.
“Amelia,” she muttered, too exhausted to deal with whatever flirtation the neurosurgeon was about to throw her way.
But Amelia only smirked, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
“Come on, that was impressive,” she said. “Cool under pressure. A total boss in the OR. You didn’t even flinch. It was kinda—” Amelia wiggled her eyebrows—“hot.”
Carina huffed out a laugh, shaking her head.
Normally, she would have played along, teased Amelia back.
But tonight, she just—
Didn’t have it in her.
She rubbed a hand over her face, sighing.
Amelia’s smirk faded slightly, her expression shifting.
“Hey.” Her voice was softer now. “Are you okay?”
Carina hesitated.
For a split second, she considered brushing it off.
She could have said she was just tired.
Could have blamed it on the long shift, the stress of surgery, the adrenaline crash.
But instead—
She just let out another slow sigh.
“I need coffee,” she muttered. “Even the bad decaf espresso from the cafeteria.”
Amelia blinked, momentarily thrown by the honesty.
Then—
She smiled.
“Now that is a crisis,” she said dramatically. “Come on, DeLuca. Let’s go suffer together.”
Carina shook her head, but for the first time today—
She actually felt a little lighter.
The hospital cafeteria was quiet, the kind of stillness that only existed between the chaos of emergencies and the exhaustion of long shifts.
Carina sat across from Amelia at a corner table, both of them clutching equally terrible cups of espresso.
Amelia took one sip and grimaced dramatically.
“I swear, this coffee is a crime against humanity,” she muttered, stirring the bitter liquid like she could somehow fix it.
Carina let out a small, tired laugh, shaking her head.
It wasn’t good coffee. But it was hot, and at this point, that was all she cared about.
She took a slow sip, letting the warmth burn down her throat, willing it to chase away the exhaustion pressing against her skull.
“You’ve been quiet,” Amelia said after a beat, watching her carefully.
Carina raised an eyebrow.
“I am always quiet when drinking terrible espresso.”
Amelia huffed a laugh, but her expression didn’t change.
“You saved a baby today." she pointed out. “Normally, you’d be glowing. Doing that proud little DeLuca strut. But instead, you look like someone ran over your dog.”
Carina sighed, leaning back in her chair.
She didn’t want to talk about it.
Didn’t want to admit that she had been on edge all day, her mind slipping too easily into dark corners.
That no matter how many babies she delivered, no matter how many mothers she reassured—
There was still a weight pressing down on her chest.
Still a gnawing, twisting feeling deep in her gut that something was wrong.
That something was about to break.
She took another sip of coffee.
“I’m just tired,” she finally said. “It’s been a long shift.”
Amelia studied her for a second longer, then—
“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly not convinced.
Carina rolled her eyes.
“I do not need a therapy session, Amelia.”
Amelia smirked.
“Good. Because I was just gonna flirt with you until you cracked.”
Carina huffed out a laugh, shaking her head.
Normally, she would tease back.
Would roll her eyes, throw a witty comeback, play along.
But tonight—
She just felt off.
Like her body knew something her brain hadn’t caught up to yet.
Like something was lurking just beyond the edges of her understanding, waiting to crash into her life like a storm she couldn’t stop.
She sighed, pressing her fingers against her temple.
“I need a vacation,” she muttered. “Or a drink. Or a different career.”
Amelia grinned.
“Oh, come on. Where else would you get to see me every day?”
Carina let out a halfhearted chuckle, shaking her head.
And for a moment—
Just a brief, fleeting moment—
Everything felt normal.
And then her phone rang.
Carina barely glanced at the screen before answering, expecting a routine check-in from a nurse, a page from another department—something normal.
But the moment she heard Andy’s voice—
Her stomach dropped.
"Carina."
Something in Andy’s tone made the air shift.
Carina sat up straighter, her pulse skipping, then speeding up.
"There was an accident."
The world tilted.
Carina gripped the edge of the table, her fingers going numb.
Amelia’s expression shifted immediately, her teasing smirk disappearing.
"Maya inhaled too much smoke."
No.
No, no, no—
"She’s unconscious."
The cafeteria faded.
The sounds, the fluorescent lights, the coffee in her hand—
It all vanished.
All that existed was the ringing in her ears.
The sudden, sharp pain in her chest.
The feeling of her entire world slipping out from under her.
She barely realized she was standing up until Amelia reached out, gripping her arm.
“Carina,” she said, voice calm but urgent. “What happened?”
Carina’s throat locked.
She couldn’t speak.
Couldn’t breathe.
Her fingers tightened around her phone.
"Maya," she managed, barely a whisper.
Amelia’s eyes widened slightly, her hand steadying Carina’s arm.
"What happened to Maya?"
Carina sucked in a sharp breath, her heart hammering against her ribs, her entire body screaming to move, to go, to be there.
Andy was still talking, but Carina could barely hear her over the roaring panic in her ears.
She didn’t even process hanging up.
Didn’t process anything except the overwhelming, all-consuming need to get to Maya.
To see her.
To make sure she was alive.
She turned, moving before she even knew where she was going, her steps quick, frantic—
But Amelia was already beside her, already keeping pace, already anchoring her.
“Okay,” she said, her voice calm, steady, in control. “Tell me what happened.”
Carina’s breath hitched violently.
“She was in a fire,” she choked out. “She—she inhaled smoke. She—”
Her voice broke.
She stumbled slightly, her body too hot, too cold, too much all at once.
But Amelia caught her.
Held her firmly by the shoulders, grounding her.
“She’s alive?” she asked, her voice gentle but sharp, pushing past the panic.
Carina nodded quickly, but her throat was too tight to form words.
Amelia exhaled.
“Okay,” she said, her voice firm, clear, unshaken. “Then let’s go.”
Carina’s chest heaved, her fingers digging into Amelia’s arm.
Her lungs burned, her heart pounded in her ears, and the hospital hallways blurred past her.
She had one goal.
One thought.
Get to Maya.
Nothing else mattered.
Not the calls from her colleagues telling her to slow down. Not the fact that her hands were shaking so violently she could barely grip her phone anymore.
Because Maya had been in a fire.
Had been pulled out unconscious.
Had inhaled too much smoke.
And for one terrifying moment, Carina had thought she was going to lose her.
She reached Maya’s hospital room, her fingers trembling as she shoved the door open—
And froze.
Carina barely registered the group of doctors surrounding the bed, checking monitors, adjusting her IV.
All she saw was Maya.
Sitting upright, mask pushed to the side, her fingers gripping the sheets so tightly her knuckles were white.
She was too still.
Her jaw too tight.
Her breathing too controlled—like she was forcing herself to stay calm.
Carina felt it instantly.
Felt the shift in energy.
Felt the wrongness curling around the edges of the relief she had expected to feel the second she saw Maya awake.
She took a step forward, voice tight, barely above a whisper.
“Is she okay?”
Bailey—who had been reviewing Maya’s chart—looked up immediately.
“She’s fine,” Bailey reassured. “Oxygen levels are stabilizing. No burns, no internal damage. Just smoke inhalation—she’ll stay overnight for monitoring, but she’s okay.”
Carina’s body nearly collapsed under the weight of those words.
She let out a sharp, shaky breath, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to slow the panic still pressing against her ribs.
Maya was fine.
She was fine.
But then—
Carina opened her eyes again.
And she really looked at her.
And she realized—
No.
She wasn’t.
The doctors slowly filed out, leaving them alone.
And still, Maya barely moved.
Barely reacted.
Carina had expected something—a smirk, a joke, a tease, a sarcastic comment about how dramatic she was for sprinting through the hospital like a lunatic.
But instead—
Maya just sat there, her fingers still gripping the sheets, her shoulders still too tense, too stiff, her chest rising and falling just a little too fast.
Carina’s stomach tightened.
She crossed the room in two quick steps, her hands instinctively cupping Maya’s face, her thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, her forehead resting against hers.
Maya sighed against her, letting her eyes flutter closed for just a second—
And in that second, Carina felt it.
The way Maya leaned into her touch, but only just enough to steal a moment of comfort before pulling away again.
The way she held herself back, like she didn’t want to be too vulnerable, too exposed, too seen.
Carina’s pulse spiked.
She knew this look.
Knew this silence.
Knew that Maya was struggling with something she wasn’t saying.
She pulled back just enough to study her wife’s face.
The paleness of her skin. The faint sheen of sweat on her forehead. The tension in her jaw, the way her fingers hadn’t loosened their grip on the sheets even once.
Maya opened her eyes, meeting Carina’s gaze with a small, tired smile.
"I’m fine," she said, voice rough and hoarse from the smoke.
Carina’s stomach twisted.
Because she had heard that exact sentence before.
Too many times.
And never once had it been true.
She sat carefully on the edge of the bed, one hand moving to Maya’s, gently prying her fingers from the sheets.
Maya let her, but the second their hands interlaced, Carina felt the tremble in her fingers.
It was slight.
Barely there.
But it was there.
Carina swallowed hard, squeezing Maya’s hand.
“You scared me,” she admitted, her voice softer now, but firm.
Maya sighed, squeezing back.
“I know.”
Carina exhaled sharply, brushing a damp strand of hair from Maya’s forehead.
“But you’re okay?” she asked again, her eyes searching Maya’s.
Maya nodded.
“Yeah,” she murmured. “Just tired. And kinda over the whole almost dying thing.”
Carina huffed out a small, breathless laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
Because Maya was still too tense.
Still too off.
Still not saying something.
She tilted her head slightly, studying her wife.
“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked, gentle, but direct.
Maya’s expression didn’t change.
Didn’t flicker.
Didn’t crack.
She just kept smiling, that same small, exhausted, careful smile.
“I told you, I’m fine.”
Carina’s chest tightened.
Because this wasn’t fine.
This was Maya deflecting. Maya brushing it off. Maya refusing to say what was actually wrong.
She had done it before.
Too many times.
After the Olympics. After her father. After the first time she had burned herself out so badly she nearly destroyed herself.
And now—
Now, she was doing it again.
Carina inhaled slowly, willing her voice to stay calm, steady, patient.
“Maya,” she murmured, her thumb brushing slow circles over her wife’s palm.
Maya blinked, just for a second, and that was all it took.
Because Carina saw it then.
The flicker of something in her eyes.
Something dark.
Something buried.
Something Maya didn’t want her to see.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Maya was struggling.
Really struggling.
And Carina had no idea how bad it was.
Carina felt it in the way Maya kept forcing that tired smile, the way she refused to meet her gaze for too long, the way she kept her breathing just controlled enough to make it seem normal—but not quite enough to be real.
Carina’s heart ached.
She had almost lost her today.
And yet—
Maya was still keeping something from her.
Still refusing to let her in.
Carina exhaled slowly, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Maya’s hand.
She wouldn’t push.
Not now.
Not when Maya was still exhausted, still recovering, still sitting in a hospital bed with oxygen pumping through her system.
But she wouldn’t ignore it either.
Wouldn’t pretend she hadn’t seen the shadows lingering behind Maya’s eyes.
So instead—
She tightened her grip around Maya’s fingers, holding on a little firmer, a little longer.
And whispered—
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Maya blinked.
Swallowed.
And for one brief moment, her smile faltered.
But she didn’t answer.
Didn’t acknowledge the weight of Carina’s words.
She just let out a soft, tired exhale, closing her eyes, her body sinking back against the pillows.
And Carina knew.
Knew that whatever this was—it wasn’t over.
Not even close.
She had spent the entire night sitting in that stiff hospital chair, her fingers intertwined with Maya’s, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest.
Maya had drifted in and out of sleep, occasionally coughing, occasionally squeezing Carina’s hand just to let her know she was still there.
But Carina hadn’t let herself rest.
Because something wasn’t right.
And even now, sitting in the sterile quiet of the hospital room, she couldn’t shake it.
Couldn’t shake the feeling that this was bigger than smoke inhalation.
That Maya was drowning in something much deeper.
And she wasn’t letting Carina see it.
Carina exhaled, running her fingers through Maya’s hair gently, smoothing out the damp strands.
Maya didn’t stir.
She was still exhausted, still recovering.
And that meant Carina had to be patient.
Had to wait for her to talk.
Had to trust that when Maya was ready, she would let her in.
But God—
She was so tired of waiting.
Carina had finally stepped away from Maya’s bedside for the first time in hours, stretching out the stiffness in her legs, forcing herself to breathe through the exhaustion.
She had been about to grab a terrible hospital coffee when she heard her name.
“Carina.”
She turned.
Andy was standing near the nurses' station, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, her jaw tight, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.
Carina’s stomach dropped.
Because Andy never hesitated.
Never looked unsure.
Never looked like she was holding something back.
But right now—
Right now, she did.
Carina felt her pulse spike.
Because this was it.
This was the moment she was going to hear something she didn’t want to hear.
Something she already felt in her gut.
Andy sighed, nodding toward the hallway.
“Can we talk?”
Carina swallowed hard.
And followed her inside the waiting room.
“She Froze, Carina.”
Andy sat down heavily, running a shaky hand through her hair.
Carina stayed standing.
She wasn’t sure she could handle sitting down for whatever was about to come next.
Andy exhaled, shaking her head.
“I don’t know how else to say this,” she muttered, voice tight, controlled, but cracking at the edges.
She looked up, eyes sharp, serious, pained.
“Maya froze in that fire.”
Carina’s stomach lurched.
She blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Like she hadn’t heard her right.
Like the words hadn’t just hit her like a truck, leaving her breathless, cold, shaking.
Andy inhaled, rubbing her hands against her jeans, her eyes filled with something that looked too close to guilt.
“I was calling her name,” she said, her voice lower now, heavier. “I was giving orders. I told her to move. I told her to get out. But she—” Andy swallowed, shaking her head. “She didn’t respond.”
Carina’s chest tightened so violently she thought she might stop breathing.
Because this wasn’t Maya.
This wasn’t her Maya.
Maya never froze.
Not in a fire.
Not in an emergency.
Not ever.
Andy let out a slow, uneven breath, shaking her head.
“She wasn’t just standing there, Carina,” she said. “She was… gone. Like she wasn’t even in the firehouse anymore. Like she was somewhere else entirely.”
Carina’s vision blurred.
Because she had seen it too.
Had seen the shift in Maya’s face when she had woken up last night.
The way she had smiled too easily, brushed it off like it was nothing, acted like nothing had happened.
But now—
Now, Andy was telling her what Maya wouldn’t.
That something had happened.
That something was deeply, horribly wrong.
Carina’s hands shook.
Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
“She didn’t tell me.”
Andy scoffed.
“No. Of course she didn’t.”
Carina exhaled sharply, pressing her fingers to her temple, trying to steady herself.
Because Maya had lied to her.
Had looked her in the eye and lied.
Told her she was fine.
Told her it was just smoke inhalation, just exhaustion, just another bad call.
And Carina had believed her.
Or at least, she had wanted to.
Because believing her meant she didn’t have to face this.
Didn’t have to face the fact that Maya was struggling with something she wouldn’t say out loud.
Didn’t have to face the fact that her wife had been standing in the middle of a burning building and had done nothing to save herself.
Didn’t have to face the fact that she had almost lost her yesterday —
And not just to the fire.
Carina took a shaky breath, lifting her gaze to Andy’s.
“How bad was it?” she whispered.
Andy hesitated.
Then—
“It wasn’t like her.”
Carina let out a soft, trembling breath.
Andy swallowed, shaking her head.
“It scared me.”
And just like that, Carina’s world tilted again.
Because Andy didn’t scare easily.
She had known Maya for years.
Had fought fires with her.
Had seen her at her worst and her best.
But this—
This had scared her.
And if it had scared Andy—
Then maybe Carina had even more to be afraid of than she thought.
"What do we do?"
Carina clenched her fingers into fists, her nails pressing into her palms.
She needed a plan.
Needed a way to fix this.
Needed a way to reach Maya before it got worse.
Andy sighed, shaking her head.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “She’s stubborn. You know that.”
Carina huffed out a weak, humorless laugh.
Yes.
She knew that too well.
Andy glanced at her.
“You’re going to talk to her, aren’t you?”
Carina inhaled sharply.
“Yes.”
Andy nodded.
“She’s not going to want to hear it.”
Carina let out a slow breath.
“She has to hear it.”
Andy smirked just slightly, but there was no humor in it.
“Good.”
Silence stretched between them.
Heavy. Unspoken.
Carina took another deep breath, standing slowly.
“I should get back to her.”
Andy nodded.
And then, for the first time in their entire conversation, she hesitated.
Carina tilted her head slightly.
“What?”
Andy exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face.
“I just…” She sighed. “I know she’s okay physically. I know she’s breathing, and that’s a relief, but…”
Carina felt her stomach clench.
Andy swallowed.
“But I think we almost lost her in more ways than one last night.”
Carina closed her eyes.
Felt those words slice through her.
Then—
She turned.
And started walking.
Because whatever was happening—
Whatever this was—
She wasn’t going to let it take Maya away from her.
Not without a fight.
Not ever.