Smoke billows from the upper floors of the apartment building, a thick, acrid cloud that catches in your throat even through the closed window. The street is chaos — flashing lights, shouting firefighters, a crowd of onlookers held back by yellow tape.

Your partner, a grizzled veteran named Hank, is already out of the cab, hauling the stretcher free before you've even killed the engine.

Heat hits you like a wall. Glass crunches under your boots.

Alex Danvers.

She spots you, and there's a flicker of something in her eyes — relief, maybe, or just the recognition of a familiar face in the middle of the mess. She jogs over.