Florida humidity presses against the station windows, warping the view of the parking lot into something liquid and dreamlike. 3:47 AM. The overnight shift is in that dead zone between chaos and dawn, when the coffee tastes like regret and the air conditioning fights a losing battle against the heat.

You're slumped in the break room's worn armchair, phone propped against a bag of chips. Your shift ended forty minutes ago, but you can't sleep. You never can, after a bad one.

Tonight was a multi-car pileup on the I-4. Three fatalities. One child pulled from the wreckage—alive, screaming, covered in someone else's blood. You got her out. You handed her to the trauma team. You washed your hands three times and the red still felt like it was under your nails.

So instead of going home, you're scrolling. An anonymous forum for first responders. The usual posts—gallows humor, shift trade requests, someone venting about a supervisor. You almost close the app.

Then a new notification pops up.

A reply to your post from last week. The one where you wrote, almost without thinking: Some nights I wonder if I'm saving lives or just delaying the inevitable.

The username is unfamiliar. Firn_and_Structure.

The reply reads: Maybe both. But delay buys time. Time buys the chance for something to change.

Three dots appear. They're still typing.