Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

On a warm Saturday evening in January, the plaza hummed with weekend life. Strings of lights swayed between lampposts, and the scent of grilled meat drifted from the food stalls lining the square. 

A figure sat on a low stone wall near the fountain, helmet in her lap, watching the crowd with the ease of someone who knew this part of the city better than her own reflection. 

Officially, she was on medical leave, with her colleagues thinking she was too battered from the last fire to work. 

Unofficially, she was already itching for the next blaze.

Her phone buzzed, and the name "Circe" flashing on the screen made her pause. The caller only dialed her when trouble needed someone reckless enough to answer the call.

Before she could pick up her radio, tucked on her belt, crackled, “All units, stand by for possible response—” but she was on her feet before the dispatcher finished.

Leave or not, if the call came, she was going.

Yet, the central plaza, ringed by glowing street lamps and bustling cafés, throbbed with laughter, chatter, and the rhythmic hum of a city in full bloom.

Here in the capital of Kalinaw, weekends are a celebration in their own right. It didn't have to be a fiesta, as the plaza always felt like one. Vendors displayed their wares, street musicians played lively tunes, and families strolled beneath strings of colored lights swaying in the tropical breeze.

But away from the kaleidoscope of celebration, the night began to split in two.

From the residential district came a shrill chorus of screams. The acrid tang of smoke began to thread its way into the air, curling over rooftops, stinging the eyes of those who turned to look. A two-story warehouse, hefty and hulking, was crammed with construction supplies and ablaze, its wooden beams cracking like bones in the heat.

Panic swept the narrow streets. Neighbors scrambled with buckets of water drawn from their own homes, trying in vain to tame the roaring orange beast. Somewhere inside, voices still cried out for help, a sound far more chilling than the fire itself.

Then, a deep metallic wail rose above the chaos.

The crowd instinctively parted as two firetrucks barreled into the scene, their sirens splitting the night. Two ambulances followed close behind, lights flashing across smoke-streaked walls.

The first firetruck spilled out four broad-shouldered men in flame-resistant suits, their gear clattering as they moved. From the second truck came four women who were smaller, lighter on their feet, but every bit as determined.

Two of them darted forward without hesitation.

“Robles, careful!” one called out, her voice slicing through the roar of the flames and the groan of collapsing timber.

“Ikaw din, Lim,” came the curt reply, edged with urgency yet threaded with the familiarity of comrades who had faced danger side by side too many times to count.

A quick, tense exchange with the on-site coordinator revealed the grim truth that five security staff members were still trapped inside. The rescuers mapped their approach with practiced efficiency.

“Right side’s yours, Lim. Left side’s yours, Robles,” their unit leader ordered.

“Copy, Cap,” both answered at once, their words as synchronized as their training.

“And when they’re out—” she didn’t need to raise her voice as the authority in her tone carried it “—you hit the second floor. Now move.”

Inside, the air was a choking wall of heat and smoke. The two moved quickly, locating and guiding the four coughing, terrified guards to safety. Once they handed the survivors to the medics, they didn’t pause as they turned back toward the yawning black maw of the warehouse.

The ambulances roared to life, red and blue lights washing over the wet pavement. Stretchers unfolded with metallic clamps, and their partnered group of paramedics moved in practiced rhythm as they checked vitals and stabilized the rescued.

“Nurse Sol, you’re up,” one of the team members called, glancing at the row of coughing, soot-streaked guards.

“I know, Sel,” she replied briskly, already crouching beside the first patient. Her hands moved with precision from checking pulses and assessing burns, but her gaze kept straying to the warehouse doors. Her brows furrowed. “Bakit parang ang tagal nila?”

Inside the burning building, the remaining guard was pinned on the second floor. The stairs were miraculously intact, offering the only route of entry and escape. 

Robles hesitated at the stairwell. “Lim, dito ka lang. I’ll handle this alone.”

“Are you insane? I’m not letting you go up there without me,” Lim shot back, voice rough from the smoke.

“Clear the path. I promise I’ll be back in a minute.” Robles didn’t wait for an answer as she vaulted up the stairs two at a time, disappearing into the swirling gray before her comrade could grab her arm.

Outside, the captain of the firefighters spoke in low, grim tones, his voice barely carrying over the hiss of hoses and the groan of burning timber.

“We just got word—six more people in a backroom. Tumigil na daw kakasigaw,” the captain said, his eyes fixed on the flames. “Their oxygen’s probably gone.”

Then, a movement came as three figures broke through the haze at the warehouse entrance. Robles emerged first, staggering under the weight of the guard from the second floor, her face streaked with ash. Beside her, Lim limped, every step jarring.

“Her boot got caught—nakatapak ng pako,” Robles reported quickly, easing the guard toward waiting medics.

“Robles!” a voice cut through the chaos.

Her head snapped toward the sound. “Cap Vergara!”

“There are still six people inside, and we think they’ve already passed out. Nasa backroom.” The captain’s tone was sharp, unyielding. “Get in there first—backup’s gonna come soon.”

Robles didn’t hesitate. She dropped her helmet visor, exchanged a wordless look with Lim, and turned back toward the fire.

She barely took a step toward the warehouse when the world split apart in a roar of heat and pain. A burning beam crashed across her back, driving her to the ground. Her breath tore out in a cry, the weight crushing her chest as flames clawed at her gear.

A torrent of water slammed down, hissing and steaming as firefighters beat back the blaze licking at her.

Her muscles screamed in protest as she tried to move. Six people were dying inside, and every heartbeat felt like a sentence. But their other crews were trapped at a separate fire across the city, so she thought no backup was coming for her.

“Please, let me through.”

The voice cut through the chaos, firm and clear.

Smoke swirled, parting just enough for a figure to drop to her side. Robles felt hands press against the raw skin at the gap in her gear, and something surged through her, a current that rattled every nerve awake. The pain bled away in an instant, replaced by a rush of clarity and strength so unnatural it made her gasp.

She twisted to see that it was a woman wearing a medical mask, her hair escaping in damp strands, the crest of Amihan Crest Medical Center stitched into her shoulder patch. She was bent slightly, breath uneven, as though the effort had drained her.

“Miss, ayos ka lang ba?” Robles rasped.

“Oo—go back inside!” the woman shot back, her voice sharp but trembling, as if holding something back.

Robles didn’t need to be told twice. She plunged into the burning maze, every sense sharpened beyond reason. Heat and smoke parted before her like curtains, and her boots found steady ground where moments ago she’d been staggering. She moved as if guided, as if every turn was already mapped in her mind.

She found the backroom almost without thought. Six men lay slumped together, their chests rising shallowly and their lips tinged with blue.

They had minutes at most.

Robles dropped to her knees beside the nearest man, shaking his shoulder, but there was no response. Smoke coiled through the cramped space, clinging to the ceiling in a suffocating shroud. She could feel the heat chewing at the walls.

“Wake up,” she muttered, though she knew they couldn’t hear her.

One by one, she hauled them onto her shoulders and arms, two at a time, the unnatural strength still thrumming in her veins. The weight should’ve staggered her, but her legs carried her without falter, each step as sure as if she had trained for years to move like this.

The corridor beyond was a tunnel of orange glare and crackling timbers. A beam groaned overhead. She ducked just as it fell, the motion so instinctive it startled her. She didn’t think as she reacted, faster than thought, faster than fear.

Outside, the medics were already waiting. Robles stumbled into the cool night air, lowering the men onto waiting stretchers. “Four more,” she barked, and without pause, she turned back for the others.

The second trip was harder; smoke clawed at her throat, and heat tried to worm its way past her gear, but the strange energy still pushed her forward and urged her on. She didn’t stop until the last man was in the ambulance, oxygen mask pressed to his face.

Only then did she let herself breathe. Her knees threatened to fold, and her vision tunneled at the edges until another hand caught her wrist, still warm and unyielding. She felt the skin against her skin.

A spark cracked through her veins.

A rush flooded in, sharp and electric, scattering the weight from her bones.

Every ache, every burn, every tremor was gone as if stolen away in that single touch.

It was her again, the masked medic. Their eyes met for only a heartbeat before the woman released her grip and turned away, stepping into an ambulance already preparing to depart.

Robles stood there, panting, watching the vehicle’s lights fade into the chaos. Around her, the survivors were being treated, the fire was being beaten back, and the throb of sirens had replaced the night’s pulse of celebration.

She slumped into a chair, wiping soot from her face.

“God, that beam must’ve rattled my brain,” she muttered, laughing once under her breath, enough to earn puzzled glances from nearby medics.

When the last hiss of steam faded and the warehouse stood as a blackened husk, the firefighters received their final confirmation that the blaze was officially out. A ripple of relief swept through the neighborhood.

Residents, many still smelling faintly of smoke, began to gather around the exhausted crew, offering heartfelt thanks. Words tumbled out with gratitude, awe, and blessings because, despite the size of the fire and the dangerously close line of wooden houses just meters away, not a single other structure had been lost. It was nothing short of a miracle, the kind born of quick thinking and sheer skill.

Captain Norelle Vergara, head of the dispatched rescue team, gave the order to pull back. Their truck rumbled to life, guided by Fire Officer Garnet Apuli, whose steady hands were trusted with every bulky, temperamental rescue vehicle in the station’s fleet.

Beside her, in the rear cab, sat the Inferno Diver Duo, Fire Officers Marlowe Lim and Jorwyn Robles, the station’s go-to specialists for diving headlong into burning structures to pull survivors from the flames.

The quartet wasn’t just a convenient grouping, as it was also a cohesive unit. 

In the wake of new national safety reforms, the government’s professional oversight body had laid down a rule that every operational unit would consist of four members, bound together as a permanent team. Their performance, conduct, and even errors would be judged collectively. A victory for one was a victory for all; a mistake by one cast its shadow over the whole.

And so, VARL was born—an acronym stitched into their jackets, drawn from their captain’s surname and the initials of her handpicked crew. Vergara had been top of her graduating class at the academy, earning the rare privilege of selecting her own team. Where others were randomly assigned, she had chosen with precision, selecting Apuli for her unmatched control behind the wheel and every firefighting equipment, Lim for her fearless mobility in tight burning spaces, and Robles for her sheer stamina and unshakable determination.

They were the same age, all classmates once, but the fire station recognized only one leader in each unit. In the field, Norelle’s voice was the final word, and the others followed it without hesitation.

As their truck pulled away from the smoking ruins, the glow of the plaza lights reappeared in the distance, a reminder that elsewhere in the city, life went on untouched.

Inside the vehicle, the air was thick with fatigue and unspoken thoughts, and for Jorwyn, one persistent memory lingered, the masked stranger whose touch had burned through her exhaustion like lightning.

“Marlowe,” Norelle remarked suddenly, eyes dropping to the neatly bandaged foot of her subordinate, “first time mo mapako, ah. Get that rechecked tomorrow and give me a report on how long your recovery will be.”

Marlowe chuckled, scratching the back of her neck in mild embarrassment. “Yes, Cap.”

Then Norelle’s gaze shifted to the other half of her duo.

“Jorwyn—good job earlier. Anim na tao ‘yon, after getting grilled pa by that large burning debris.” Her brow furrowed slightly. “Go with Lowe tomorrow. You still need a proper check-up. I’m surprised your back isn’t bleeding or broken.”

Jorwyn slouched forward, as if the weight of the night had finally caught up with her. Shit. How come I’m all better already? The thought flickered through her head like an unwelcome spark.

“Whole body hurts, actually,” she lied aloud, letting a fake groan slip when she shifted. “Feel ko nga it was just grit that kept me moving, Cap. That, and the need to get those six people out.”

Norelle’s gaze lingered on her for a beat, skeptical at the sudden onset of theatrics, but she didn’t press. “Report your recovery time, too,” she ordered, turning forward. “We’ll be on office duty until my divers are cleared for the field.”

Back at the station, after the incident was logged and reported to their superiors, Norelle dismissed the team, reminding them that the Diver Duo would follow up with the medics.

“Garn, padrop naman,” Marlowe said, rising carefully from her seat and gesturing toward her foot. She jerked her thumb at Jorwyn. “Pati ‘to, konti na lang makikita na si Kamatayan, oh.”

Garnet’s laugh was warm, teasing. “I will, don’t worry. It’s just so funny—dami niyong mas delikadong missions before and you came out scratch-free, pero ngayong eleven lang ang kailangan ilabas, para kayong nakipagdigmaan.”

Marlowe scoffed, waving her hands in mock offense. “In my defense, it’s my foot. We could still do missions if the injury weren’t there.”

Jorwyn raised both hands, chiming in with a smirk. “First time my partner’s in that position, and I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t exactly ignore that big-ass beam falling on me. Don’t blame me.” She winced, half real and half exaggerated, when her back stretched.

“I’ll drive you guys tomorrow din,” Garnet said, voice laced with mock resignation.

The duo lit up like schoolkids promised a free lunch. “Yes!” they chorused, their earlier fatigue momentarily forgotten.

When Garnet dropped her off, Jorwyn waited until the taillights disappeared down the street before letting her shoulders fall back into their natural posture. The exaggerated winces and the hunched walk are gone.

Inside, she kicked off her boots and padded toward the bathroom. She passed the full-length mirror by her doorway and froze.

Her back, bare where her shirt had ridden up, was smooth. Untouched. Not even a blush of redness where the burning beam had slammed into her. The skin looked new, almost impossibly so, like it had never seen fire.

“Shit,” she whispered. “I’m not really imagining this?”

She twisted her torso, testing her range of motion. No stabbing pain, no tightness. Reaching over her shoulder, she pressed the spot where the wood had landed, half-expecting a tender throb, but there was nothing. She brushed her fingertips along her hairline, feeling for any swelling at the back of her head, and still nothing.

“What the hell is happening…” she murmured, shaking her head before stepping into the shower.

The water hit her skin in a hot cascade. She braced herself for the sting, but there was no bite, no burn. Just heat and the faint scent of her soap mixing with the steam. Her hands drifted up to her forehead, to the thin scar slicing through her right eyebrow.

That one, at least, was real and permanent.

It was the only mark she carried from the night her village had burned. She had been young, too young to remember the details and too young to understand why the flames had come or who had set them. All she knew was that her parents hadn’t walked out of that night with her. That scar was the sole physical proof she had survived at all.

The memories came in fragments, as there was the roar of fire swallowing wooden walls, the sky turning red, the air thick enough to choke her. Yet no fear clung to them, no trauma. Instead, she felt an odd connection to fire itself, as if its heat had taken root inside her and fueled her every time she ran into danger.

And tonight, that fire had been replaced by something else.

Her mind went back, unbidden, to the moments she had touched the masked medic. Twice, each time followed by a rush in her veins, a surge of energy sharp enough to feel like electricity. She could still recall the faint pressure of that smooth, bare hand against her wounded skin.

It was odd. Too odd to ignore, and yet she forced herself to. The last thing she needed was to spiral into some wild theory about strangers and miracles.

But as she stepped out of the shower, toweling her hair, she caught herself glancing at her reflection again. Her back still looked flawless, and the ghost of that touch still lingered.

The next morning, Jorwyn’s sleep was broken by the sharp, insistent beeping of her phone. The vibration rattled across her bedside table, a sound far too aggressive for someone still half-asleep. She cracked one eye open, squinting toward the dim red glow of her digital clock on the computer desk—7:19 a.m.

With a groan, she groped for the phone, dragging it into the warm tangle of blankets. There were two missed calls and fifteen unread messages, all from Marlowe and Garnet.

[Norelle called me for an urgent assignment. Can’t pick you and Marlowe. Sorry.]
[Bawi ako, promise.]
[Jor, my mom will take me to Amihan na.]
[She’s so worried. She won’t rest until she takes me as soon as possible.]
[Get well soon, buddy.]

Jorwyn exhaled through her nose, a small, private smile tugging at her lips. She doesn’t need to invent an excuse for skipping a check-up now, not when her back was already as good as new. 

She stretched, luxuriating in the absence of pain, then tossed the phone back onto the bed and rolled over.

Just a little more sleep.

When the beeping came again, it was like déjà vu. She groaned into her pillow, swiping the phone off the mattress this time.

It wasn’t  Marlowe. It wasn’t  Garnet. The number was tagged unknown, but to her it was familiar.

She blinked toward the window and saw that the street outside was already cloaked at night. The clock now read 7:07 p.m.

She had slept twelve hours straight.

Sitting up, she felt the weight of the day settling on her shoulders. She glanced at the screen, her eyes scanning the message that awaited her.

[Silver Shield Center
21-storey (Ongoing demolition)
Retrieve items on level 18.
Please see the attachment for the files to be retrieved.
Stake: 1.2 million]

Jorwyn let out a low whistle, her eyebrows arching. “Well, hello, stranger.”

It had been months since she had seen a payout this high, as her recent offers never climbed past half a million. The thought of walking away from this job a million richer sent a quick pulse of adrenaline through her veins.

In one motion, she swung her legs out of bed, bare feet hitting the cool floor.

She tapped the attachment.

A scanned blueprint.

A steel cabinet.

A briefcase filled with documents.

The password combination to open it.

The job seemed straightforward, and the instructions were clear and highly profitable. Her lips curved into a sharper smile.

Finally, she muttered to herself.

Her fingers drummed lightly against the table, restless with the thrill of it. She could already picture the steps unfolding in her mind, each move as precise and effortless as if she had done it a hundred times before. No hesitation and no second-guessing. This was the kind of work she had been waiting for, clean, decisive, and rewarding enough to drown out the quiet ache of all the wasted days before this one.

So she dressed with care, striking a balance between comfort and stealth, in dark, fitted clothing that wouldn’t snag, and shoes quiet enough to make her footsteps vanish.

The Silver Shield Center loomed ahead, its base shrouded in thick black tarpaulin that swallowed the lower two floors in shadow. Beyond the sheets of fabric, demolition machinery stood silent and hulking, their steel arms frozen mid-swing. A chunk of the building’s facade had already been torn away, exposing its bones to the night.

Jorwyn circled the perimeter, her eyes tracing the patterns of the tarpaulin, noting every potential exit. A few construction lights buzzed in the distance, with no guards in sight and no moving shadows.

Still, she lingered in the darkness, counting seconds, listening. The air smelled faintly of scraped cement and rusted metal, a scent that clung to the back of her throat. Somewhere beyond the fence, a lone piece of corrugated tin rattled in the wind, too soft to be a threat, but enough to make her pulse steady into that razor-sharp calm she trusted. 

She mapped the silence in her head, marking the places where footsteps should’ve been, and finding none.

When the last echo of noise faded, she slipped through a narrow gap in the tarpaulin, body low, every movement a whisper. The air inside was thick with dust and the scent of old cement. She kept to the shadows, making for the fire-exit stairs tucked away at the rear.

Her breaths were measured and almost deliberate as she climbed one flight after another, the metal steps creaking faintly beneath her boots until she reached the eighteenth floor.

The door was locked.

Her eyes swept the landing, catching on a single open window across the narrow space. Hugging the wall, she moved toward it, her back pressed to the peeling paint, until she stood at the edge. Beyond the frame stretched a narrow strip of concrete railing, no more than a foot wide.

One step and another.

The night air clawed at her clothes. Her shoulder grazed the cold wall, her fingers brushing it for balance as the ground yawned open eighteen stories below, waiting.

When she reached the window, she slid inside in one smooth motion and sank into a crouch, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness. She listened to the air hissing through the broken panes, the faint groan of the building settling.

The cabinet sat exactly where the schematics promised. She knelt, dialed in the code, and heard the lock click into place. Inside, a black briefcase waited, its weight solid in her hands. A quick check of the contents revealed crisp pages and unbroken seals.

Job halfway done.

The stairs would’ve been the most straightforward way out, except they were sealed off entirely. No breach possible.

Jorwyn exhaled through her teeth. “Ha! No wonder this pays millions.”

Retracing her steps, she returned to the window and made her first mistake.

She had forgotten the glass. Shards still clung to the frame like jagged teeth. As she swung her arm forward to steady herself, a splintered edge tore through her sleeve and bit deep into the flesh of her upper arm.

A hot, sharp pain flared. She hissed, jaw clenched, resisting the urge to cry out. Blood welled quickly, warm against the cool night air. She kept moving, her grip tightening on the briefcase, her eyes fixed on the ledge ahead. One misstep would mean a fall she wouldn’t walk away from.

Once she crossed back to the stairwell, she leaned against the wall, clutching her arm. The cut was bad, even worse than she had first thought.

“God,” she muttered under her breath, “why am I expecting it to be healed just like yesterday?”

But the skin stayed split, the blood still fresh. The ache deepened with every heartbeat, with no magic touch and no instant recovery.

It stung more as time passed, but she forced her mind elsewhere. Pain was an old companion, and she had built her tolerance over the years. This wasn’t the end of the world. Just another reminder that she was still human, vulnerable, breakable, and very much alive.

Jorwyn dragged herself down the fire-exit stairs, each step a jolt of pain up her arm. She slipped out through the gap in the tarpaulin-covered gate and into the night air, heading toward her car.

“Hey!”

The voice came sharp from behind her, stopping her cold.

“Anong nangyari diyan?”

She froze mid-step, mind racing. A woman bleeding heavily and walking alone down a dark street was bound to draw suspicion, and in her case, suspicion was dangerous.

Footsteps closed in, and slowly, Jorwyn turned.

A woman, roughly her height, with long hair brushing her shoulders, was striding toward her. She slowed when their eyes met, her gaze dropping to Jorwyn’s wound. It flicked between her face and the gash on her arm, widening with concern.

“I’m… I’m a paramedic,” the woman said breathlessly. “I can patch that up. My team’s just there.” She gestured toward a white ambulance parked nearby, where three figures in scrubs leaned over its open rear doors.

Jorwyn’s eyes narrowed, studying them. The medic caught the look and explained, “We just came from a mission. Napadaan lang dito kasi umiiwas sa traffic. Unfortunately, tinamaan kami ng malas—our ambulance stepped on wood with a nail.”

Jorwyn gave a noncommittal nod, preparing to step away. But one of the nurses by the ambulance noticed them and called out, “Nurse A! Dalhin mo na siya dito, baka maimpeksyon ‘yan!”

Before the woman addressed as Nurse A could speak again, a sleek black sedan pulled up in front of Jorwyn, and the window rolled down to reveal a familiar face.

“Tine,” the driver called.

Jorwyn gave the woman a slight nod, then moved toward the car. “Thanks for your concern,” she told her quietly. The medic managed a faint smile before the door shut and the sedan pulled away.

Inside, the driver’s voice was tight with concern and edged with anger. “Celestine, what happened to your arm?”

“Relax, Circe,” Jorwyn replied with a laugh, as if that could soften the tension. This was not the first time Circe had picked her up mid-mission, blood on her clothes. “It’s manageable. Just drop me at my car.”

Circe’s eyes stayed fixed on the road. “We’re getting that treated. I’ll have your car delivered to your house.”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“You’ll tell me. Now.” Her tone was firm, almost clipped. She jerked her chin at the backpack in Jorwyn’s lap. “Mission success, yehey,” she added dryly, her gaze flicking briefly to the wound. “Your stake will come in once they verify the documents.”

“Not necessary, Circe,” Jorwyn said sharply, her voice edged with warning, ignoring the woman’s remarks regarding her mission.

“No,” Circe replied flatly. “You’re so fucking reckless.”

Jorwyn’s jaw tightened. “Please, Circe. You don’t get anything by helping me. Your job is to retrieve what I retrieve. Nowhere in your job description does it say you have to nurse me.”

A humorless laugh escaped Circe’s lips. She pressed harder on the accelerator, saying nothing until they reached Jorwyn’s car.

“Thanks,” Jorwyn muttered, closing the door before Circe could reply. She watched the sedan disappear into the dark before slipping into her own vehicle and driving home.

Once there, she tended to the wound herself, her hands steady and almost practiced. She cleaned the gash, stitched the torn flesh, and wrapped it in a tight bandage. A shower was out of the question, so she settled for a quick wipe-down with a damp towel before collapsing onto the sofa.

The pain flared as she sank into the cushions, and she cursed under her breath.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Seriously, what the hell happened to me yesterday?”

The inconsistency gnawed at her. The other day, her injuries had vanished as if by magic, but today the blood and pain clung stubbornly to her. Something didn’t add up.

The lingering thoughts that had haunted Jorwyn the whole night continued to affect her until the next morning, but were finally broken when Marlowe’s voice pulled her back to the present.

“Are you okay? You’re coming with me—we need to report to Cap together,” Marlowe said, her crutch tapping lightly against the floor. Her foot was still bandaged, and Jorwyn adjusted her own pace to match her partner’s slow, careful steps.

“You got checked on your own?” Marlowe asked, glancing at Jorwyn, curiosity and mild suspicion in her eyes. Jorwyn only gave a slight nod.

“Sorry talaga. I couldn’t come with you… My mom insisted kasi eh,” Marlowe added quickly, assuming Jorwyn might be upset at her as she noticed that she was ignoring her messages. Silence had always been Jorwyn’s warning sign.

“Baliw, it’s fine,” Jorwyn replied honestly, her voice calm. And it was the truth. Her quietness had nothing to do with Marlowe. Her mind kept circling back to last weekend, to her back, the fire, and the strange, inexplicable healing.

Marlowe opened her mouth, likely to press the issue, but they reached the office before she could. Inside, their superior waited, and any further discussion would’ve to wait. They knocked, then entered, saluting Norelle as best they could given Marlowe’s condition.

“FO Lim, reporting as commanded, Cap!” Marlowe said, managing her tone and posture as best she could. Norelle acknowledged the salute with a sharp nod.

“Proceed,” Norelle commanded.

“Medical check-up recommended a month for full recovery for both divers, Cap,” Marlowe reported, detailing the examination, including the length of the nail she had stepped on and the burn and impact wound Robles had suffered from the falling debris. Norelle listened quietly, nodding in understanding.

“A fit-to-work certificate should be issued at the end of the month, provided you’re cleared to return to field duties,” Norelle added, her tone firm, making the duo nod their heads almost instantly.

“Provide us with your instructions, Cap,” Marlowe prompted, expecting orders for what to do while stuck in office work.

“Thank you for the health report, Lim,” Norelle said, moving to a table by the printers and opening a large box of documents. “Both of you—Lim and Robles—will be working on these Fire Safety Inspection checklists here in the office, while Apuli and I handle the field inspections. You’ll also cross-reference with checklists from our prior inspections. So, no, hindi naman kayo mawawalan ng ginagawa.”

Marlowe groaned audibly. “Can’t we inspect smaller housing areas, Cap? At least fewer issues to deal with,” she said, clearly disappointed at being stuck at a desk while her teammates went out into the field. “I mean, you’re handling large facilities. Couldn’t we take the bungalows?”

Jorwyn nudged her lightly. “Shh, don’t get us in trouble.”

Norelle glanced at the exchange and let out a soft laugh.

“Apologies, Lim. This comes directly from above. Alam ko naman na you wouldn’t want to be trapped here, pero we have to follow orders,” Norelle said, placing stacks of papers on their desks and gesturing for them to take their seats.

Marlowe slumped dramatically into her chair, wincing as she adjusted her crutch. “This is… torture. Eight hours of paper while everyone else plays in the field?”

Jorwyn smirked, leaning back in her chair. “At least ‘di ka makakatapak ng pako today.”

Marlowe shot her a look, half annoyance, half amusement. “Funny, Robles. Really funny.”

“Don’t worry,” Norelle added, offering Marlowe a small smile. “Once you’re mobile again, I can make your request happen.”

Marlowe could only sigh and mutter, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Robles, you’ll handle the end-of-shift reports, since Lim is already tasked with pre-shift duties,” Norelle continued, moving toward Garnet and signaling her to get ready for field departure.

Jorwyn sat back in her chair, eyes flicking briefly to Marlowe, noting her partner’s frustration. For now, their hands were tied, the adrenaline of fieldwork replaced by the tedium of paperwork. 

But the fire, the chaos, and the surge she couldn’t explain were still there, buried beneath the monotony, waiting for the next call.

A month had passed, and Marlowe’s condition had improved; she had also been issued a fit-to-work certificate. “Finally,” Marlowe muttered, flexing her fingers experimentally. “I can stop worrying about every little ache now.”

Jorwyn couldn’t go to a real hospital. Her injuries weren’t real in the conventional sense, as her back might have healed miraculously, her burns gone in moments, but the paper trail had to exist. 

She asked someone to help her obtain a certificate. “I need something official,” Jorwyn said, tapping the folder in her hands. “I can’t just show up and say, ‘I’m fine now.’  They’d never believe me.”

The diver duo endured a month of seemingly endless paperwork, inspections, and minor evaluations at small facilities. It was tedious work, the adrenaline of field missions replaced by forms and checklists, yet beneath it all, the fire, the chaos, and the surge she couldn’t explain still simmered, waiting for the next call.

Meanwhile, Jorwyn had quietly taken on five side jobs from the same employer she had worked with during the Silver Shield Center mission. Two years of proven competence had earned their trust, and she had never failed a mission. 

“You’re seriously taking five jobs this month?” Circe asked one evening, raising an eyebrow as she watched Jorwyn go through her schedule.

“‘Di ka pa rin sanay?” Jorwyn said, shrugging. “Besides, someone has to do them.”

But only one of those missions went smoothly. In the others, she returned battered, injuries appearing in different parts of her body each time. Her shirt sleeves would cling damply to bruises, and a thin line of blood might streak down her arm. Yet she never complained, never faltered. 

Circe noticed how she winced only slightly when moving or stretching, and how her jaw tightened as she continued walking despite the pain.

“Alam mo,” Circe said one night after Jorwyn returned from a mission, “you don’t have to keep taking it all silently. You could—”

“I’m used to it,” Jorwyn interrupted gently, almost apologetically. “Pain doesn’t stop the job. And it’s temporary.”

Circe sighed, letting the words go. She had watched enough missions to know that arguing wouldn’t change Jorwyn’s mindset. She shook her head, making a mental note to keep a closer eye next time.

Then a call came in just after midnight. Jorwyn’s phone buzzed quietly against the edge of the bed. She rubbed her eyes but didn’t hesitate.

“Another one?” Circe asked, sitting on a bench near her car, waiting for the diver to arrive.

“Always another one,” Jorwyn muttered, pulling on her dark, fitted mask.

Circe watched silently. She knew better than to try stopping her. Instead, she gathered the small bag of supplies Jorwyn would need, gloves, wipes, spare bandages, and followed at a discreet distance in her car.

Circe Hermoso’s job was to clean up afterward, retrieve anything Jorwyn brought back for her employers, and sometimes act as backup, but she never saw the full extent of the danger Jorwyn faced.

By the time Jorwyn reached the location, a rundown warehouse at the edge of the city, the air was thick with acrid smoke. Flames licked the metal siding, and the distant clamor of trapped workers reached her ears. She ignored the throb in her ribs and shoulder she had gained when she was hit by a falling post earlier.

Pain was a temporary and irrelevant companion—her mantra.

Inside, chaos reigned. Collapsing beams, leaking gas, and smoke clawing at her throat created a deadly maze. She moved with purpose, guided by some strange internal force, hands steady as she freed trapped workers one by one.

Circe stayed outside, watching from a safe distance. She had a small pair of binoculars that she had brought for situations like this, keeping her eyes on every movement. 

When a pile of crates fell inside the warehouse, she instinctively reached for her phone, ready to call for help, but then saw Jorwyn rise, dragging another trapped worker out as if the falling debris had barely touched her.

Circe’s stomach tightened. She shouldn’t be able to do that… she should be hurt. But Jorwyn stepped into the night air, smoke swirling around her, shirt damp and scorched in places, cuts and bruises visible, yet nothing that slowed her.

“Ayos ka lang?” Circe shouted across the distance, her voice sharp with worry.

Jorwyn glanced back, casually brushing soot from her face. “Nothing to worry about, Circe,” she said, voice steady. “Handle the rest.”

As Jorwyn disappeared back into the shadows to finish the mission, Circe exhaled shakily, clutching the supplies bag like an anchor. She would clean up afterward, collect whatever evidence or items Jorwyn retrieved, and patch up the visible injuries. Still, the thought nagged at her that Jorwyn was pushing herself too far and was going to get seriously hurt someday.

They left the ruins without a word, Circe carrying the case Jorwyn had retrieved while the firefighter pressed a cloth against the gash on her arm. 

The job was done, but the restless spark in her chest hadn’t dimmed.

Hours later, the smell of antiseptic replaced the scent of smoke. A woman dressed in navy blue scrubs with steady hands leaned over her, hair falling in soft strands that framed sharp, assessing eyes.

“You don’t look like someone who’s supposed to be on medical leave,” the woman said, her voice a mix of amusement and warning.

Jorwyn found herself smiling despite the sting in her arm. 

She didn’t know the woman’s name yet, but she already knew two things: her touch was gentle and familiar, but her gaze was sharp enough to cut through steel.

Their eyes met for a moment too long, long enough for the background noise of the ER to fade.

“This might sting,” she warned.

Jorwyn wasn’t sure if she meant the wound or something else entirely.

Chapter Text

The emergency room was quiet, eerily so. No sirens wailing from the streets, no frantic footsteps rushing through the sliding doors, no patient being wheeled in from a desperate, last-minute rescue. 

Since this morning, there had not been a single major case. Only a handful of patients occupied the ward, each needing small interventions like an IV here, a dressing change there, and nothing critical enough to send the whole floor into the familiar, organized chaos.

On the far left of the room, where shelves of gauze, oxygen tanks, and trauma kits lined the wall, four nurses in crisp navy blue scrubs worked with quiet precision. They sat cross-legged or perched on stools, repacking their trauma bags and checking expiration dates on vials, restocking bandages, refilling saline pouches, and making sure everything was ready should they be called in as backup.

This was the SCAR team.

Lead Nurse Maerith Ricalde ran the quartet with calm authority. Every major decision was passed through her first, as she coordinated directly with their partnered rescue unit at the fire station, organized their responses, and ensured each member knew their role before they even set foot on the scene.

Beside her, Fleet Nurse Solana Catacutan checked and re-checked the ambulance keys in her pocket. She was the group’s designated driver and caretaker of their equipment, the one who knew exactly which compartment every tool was in and whether the defibrillator battery was fully charged. If something went missing, she would know before anyone else even noticed.

A few feet away, Nurse Selene Sevilleja ran her eyes over triage tags, her fingers unconsciously tracing the printed codes. She was their triage specialist, the first to assess a scene and the one who, in seconds, decided who would be treated first and who could wait.

Finally, Nurse Avalora Arceta carefully tested a CPR mask, her hands steady from years of practice. Avalora was the quartet’s lead in resuscitation and rapid patch-ups. Though all four were trained in the same lifesaving skills, she had the speed and instinct of someone who could keep a patient alive in the back of a moving ambulance without missing a beat.

They were not just thrown together by chance. Just like the VARL rescue unit they are now partners with, SCAR was handpicked and formed by Maerith during her tenure as a top-ranking medical student. Their name was drawn from the first letters of their last names, but it also fit them in other ways, as they were a team forged in high-pressure training, each of them leaving their mark on every scene they worked.

All four had trained and graduated from Amihan Crest School of Medicine & Allied Health, earning their degrees in nursing before undergoing specialized paramedic training.

Originally, SCAR had been paired with a rescue team from the other side of the city. But when that team was reassigned to another province, the quartet was re-matched, this time with VARL of the Blue Sentinel Fire Station.

“We just got partnered up again, pero look at us now?” Solana announced with all the drama of a TV host. She gestured broadly to herself and Selene to see if the spotlight was on them. “Back as full-time ER nurses kasi that VARL unit is no good!”

Selene tilted her head in agreement, her expression dripping with mock sympathy. “Chief Nurse said pa naman they were the elites of their batch—pero bakit ang lalampa?” She clicked her tongue as if the very thought pained her.

Avalora and Maerith exchanged a glance, the kind that said Here they go again. Neither seemed eager to encourage the bashing, but Solana and Selene were clearly on a roll.

“Maybe it was just a bad day for them,” Maerith said, her tone calm but firm. “We haven’t even properly introduced ourselves yet, kaya don’t judge them muna.” She smoothed a piece of lint off her scrub top with exaggerated care, as if she could physically brush away the conversation.

“Exactly!  First impressions last, diba?” Solana countered. “Tapos yung first impression was… what?  Limping towards the ambulance like they’d just been in a bar fight?”

Selene could not resist adding, “Yung Lim? Nakatapak ng pako? Muntik pa siyang maging priority patient over the survivors. Eh bakit niya tinanggal yung boots niya in the first place?”

Avalora finally decided to intervene, leaning back in her chair. “She told me her boot got stuck somewhere—probably debris or wreckage—so she had to take it off para makalabas agad. Just before the door, hindi niya na-anticipate yung pako kasi nagmamadali sila.”

“Ayan naman pala,” Maerith said, like that settled the matter.

Selene opened her mouth for a comeback, but did not get the chance. The ER doors burst open, and a wheelchair rolled in, pushed by a nurse. A woman with her head down sat slouched in the seat, her hair slightly damp with sweat.

Maerith did not miss a beat. “Ava,” she said quietly.

Avalora grabbed her case of supplies from under the counter without hesitation. As she made her way to the heavily curtained bed, she did a quick scan of the injury location, body language, and facial tension. But when she stepped inside the curtain and saw who was sitting on the bed, her stride slowed.

“Well, well, well.” The words slipped out, amused but edged.

The patient lifted her chin slightly.

“You don’t look like someone who’s supposed to be on medical leave,” Avalora said, voice lilting between teasing and reprimand.

The woman, tall and strong-shouldered even in that hospital gown, gave her a smile Avalora could not pin down. Was it sheepish? Defiant? Both? Avalora’s gaze flicked to the figure standing on the other side of the bed.

“Are you the patient’s guardian?” Avalora asked.

“Ye—”

“No!”

Avalora’s brows arched, but she let it slide for now. “Your name, Miss?”

The woman tilted her head, clearly assessing whether to answer. “Jorwyn Robles?”

A slow smile spread across Avalora’s face. “I knew it.” She set her kit on the bedside table, rolling up her sleeves before holding out her hands. “Let me see.”

“You’re from VARL, right?” she added casually, glancing at the other woman.

Jorwyn’s expression shifted to a flicker of something guarded passing over her features. “Am I supposed to be familiar with you, too?” she asked, tone neutral but just a touch too careful.

Avalora did not catch the lie in her voice, but Jorwyn knew the truth; she had seen Avalora before, during the Silver Shield Center mission. Avalora had been the one offering to patch her up that night. But Jorwyn’s mask had kept her identity safe, and that safety relied on Avalora never making the connection.

“I don’t know,” Avalora said lightly, her eyes sharp. “Maybe kasi I’m part of SCAR?”

The name hit Jorwyn like a sudden chill. Her eyes widened just slightly.

They locked gazes. For a brief, charged second, the chaos of the ER, with its beeping monitors, rolling carts, and muffled conversations, seemed to fade into silence.

“This might sting,” Avalora said at last, pressing gauze against the cut. Her touch lingered just a fraction longer than needed, the slightest whisper of power sliding under her fingertips. The bleeding slowed, the torn edges knitting subtly beneath the surface.

Of course, Jorwyn knew SCAR.

She knew their names—supposedly their faces, too, and the quiet weight of their reputation that drifted through the fire station like smoke. The quartet was almost a legend among the paramedic teams, efficient to the point of unnerving. 

Weeks ago, word had come down that VARL and SCAR would be stationed side by side from here on out, their bases practically close enough to share the same stretch of road.

Still, knowledge on paper was not the same as knowing people in the flesh. Between back-to-back calls, late-night returns, and the kind of exhaustion that left little room for small talk, the chance for a proper introduction had never arrived. All Jorwyn had were half-heard stories and fleeting glances across crowded emergency scenes, a puzzle of impressions waiting for the right moment to click into place.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I wasn’t able to tell—OUCH.” Her apology broke into a wince as the antiseptic touched the wound.

“Told you,” Avalora teased, not bothering to hide her smirk.

Jorwyn chuckled softly, the sound low and a little self-conscious. “Not bad, though,” she said. “You’ve got a light touch.”

“So,” Avalora began, needle and thread poised in her hands, “tell me, Robles—what exactly were you doing to earn this gash? Your unit’s supposed to be on leave. Unless this is your idea of a vacation?”

Jorwyn just blinked, lips pressed into a firm line.

“And how’s your back, by the way? Funny how I never saw you check in here for that. Lim did, though.” Avalora’s tone was pleasant, but her words prodded like pins.

“Can I… not answer that?” Jorwyn muttered.

Circe nudged her from the side, leaning in just enough to murmur something. Jorwyn turned her head sharply and shot her a glare. Circe mouthed, You’re being suspicious. Jorwyn rolled her eyes in reply.

Thankfully, Avalora was too focused on the neat, steady rhythm of her stitches to notice the silent exchange.

“Someone tried to rob me,” Circe said suddenly, stepping into the conversation like it was her cue. “This kind woman caught the knife meant for me. My hero.” Her voice dripped with exaggerated gratitude, like a princess gushing over her knight.

Avalora laughed. “Funny, I thought you were her guardian?”

Jorwyn turned slowly toward Circe, her look saying You’ve made this worse.

“Ye—yeah! I’m really her guardian,” she said with a short, awkward laugh. “I just… brought her here. That counts, right?”

Avalora leaned back slightly, raising her head to give the two women a satisfied, almost smug smile as she snipped the last piece of surgical thread. 

The needle went back into her kit with a quiet clink, and she began winding the excess thread into a neat coil—her hands moving with the same calm precision she had kept throughout the procedure.

“There,” she said, her tone somewhere between clinical and teasing. “All patched up. So…”

Her gaze flicked between Jorwyn and Circe, a playful curiosity glinting in her eyes. “Why do you both look like you’ve been caught stealing cookies? Relax, no one’s dying here.”

She pulled a roll of bandage from her kit, measuring it with a practiced glance before cutting just enough to wrap the wound. Her fingers were quick but gentle as she secured it in place, the fresh white cloth stark against Jorwyn’s skin. 

“Change that at least once a day,” she instructed. “And try not to do anything stupid enough to split it open again.”

Jorwyn had been silent through most of the dressing process, watching Avalora work with the faint wariness of someone who was not used to being the patient. But as the nurse began packing her kit to leave, Jorwyn’s voice cut through the hum of the ER.

“Can you keep this whole thing a secret?”

The question made Avalora pause mid-motion, one eyebrow lifting. “From who?” she asked, her tone sharper now, curiosity sharpening her focus.

“Everyone. My team, your team—anyone who could make a big deal out of this,” Jorwyn replied, sounding casual, though her fingers had curled slightly against the edge of the bed.

Avalora tilted her head, studying her as if trying to read between the lines. “And why, exactly?”

Inside, Jorwyn’s mind skated around the truth that if Avalora connected her to that night at the Silver Shield Center, to the masked firefighter who refused treatment, it would blow her cover. But none of that could be said aloud.

“Ugh.” She let out an exasperated sound, playing the part of someone too tired for this interrogation.

“Hey,” Avalora countered, clearly amused at her persistence. “You’re the one asking for a favor. The least you can do is give me a good reason—para lang alam ko if I’m covering for something shady.” Her smile turned faintly wicked, as if she enjoyed watching Jorwyn squirm.

“Para hindi na sila magalala,” Jorwyn said finally, the words clipped but deliberately steady. “I’ll be fine. This will heal fast enough.”

Jorwyn rose from the cot, flexing her freshly bandaged arm, and offered Avalora a slight nod of thanks. 

She was about to ask if the nurse was alright when she caught the way Avalora’s fingers pressed lightly into her forearm, her brows knitting together as though she were suppressing something, pain or maybe just fatigue. 

The moment flickered and was gone almost before Jorwyn could place it. Avalora smoothed her expression, gave a quick little wave as if to say all done, and moved on to the next patient without lingering.

As she and Circe stepped out of the ER, Jorwyn flexed her arm again. No dull ache, no stiffness, only the faint, familiar sting of antiseptic.

Normal enough.

Still, the way Avalora had gripped her arm lingered in her mind. Maybe the nurse’s arms had gone numb from holding steady for so long, her muscles tightening with the focus it took to stitch cleanly. It made sense, and Jorwyn knew the kind of precision that demanded absolute stillness, as well as how it could leave one's limbs feeling like lead.

She shook the thought away and kept walking, the lightness in her arm almost unsettling in how quickly it had come.

Outside, the night air was cool and tinged with the faint scent of diesel fumes from the parked ambulances. One of them had its back doors open, a nurse with short hair rummaging inside. The SCAR patch stitched onto her shoulder caught Jorwyn’s attention.

She decided to try her luck at being friendly. “Hey,” she called, stopping near the ambulance.

The nurse straightened, glanced over, then returned the greeting.

“I’m from VARL,” Jorwyn said, jerking a thumb at herself. “I’m guessing you’re from SC—”

“VARL?!” the nurse blurted, eyes widening.

Jorwyn blinked at the sudden outburst. The girl looked at her like she had just spotted someone from the enemy camp.

“Si Robles ka?” the nurse asked.

“…Yes?” Jorwyn replied cautiously.

The woman’s eyes dropped to the bandage on Jorwyn’s arm, and she let out a short laugh. “Lampa talaga kayong VARL.”

Jorwyn’s brows pulled together. “What?”

“Did Nurse Ava aid you?” the nurse asked, her tone now curious rather than mocking. “That’s her style of bandaging—clean, tight, just enough to let you move without breaking it open. Recognized it agad.”

Jorwyn glanced at her arm, flexing it slightly. “…Yeah. I feel… good. Like my whole arm wasn’t throbbing earlier.”

“Exactly,” the nurse said, grinning. “Nurse Avalora’s the best. She can stop bleeding like magic, stitch up any tear, and her treatments? Swear, bukas parang hindi ka nasugatan.”

Jorwyn tilted her head, half-amused, half-skeptical. “I’ll take your word for it.” Then she squinted slightly. “What was that you said earlier—‘lampa’?”

The nurse leaned against the ambulance, her arms crossed. “Weren’t your team all banged up last dispatch? Kaya ayan, we’re stuck back at the hospital, only getting sent out for backup.”

She made a mock-sympathetic face. “And now, here you are, patched up again? Either malas ka… or you’ve got a lot more going on than you’re letting on.”

Jorwyn stiffened. Right. A few minutes ago, she had been telling Avalora to keep this injury quiet, and now here she was practically advertising it to another SCAR member.

Before she could respond, Circe, who had been silently enjoying the exchange, stepped in. “She caught a knife aimed at me, nurse,” she said smoothly, delivering the same line she had used earlier but with a new audience. “I don’t think pagiging lampa ‘yon. I’d call that courage.”

She even threw Jorwyn a warm, grateful look.

Jorwyn mentally rolled her eyes.

The nurse’s face, Solana’s, softened, her teasing replaced by mild embarrassment. “Oh. Sorry, Robles. Akala ko may side job ka tapos nagpakalampa kaya nasugatan ka.” She chuckled. “Wouldn’t be the first time a rescuer was doing something off-duty and ended up here.”

The words were light, but they landed like a jab in Jorwyn’s ribs.

“Anyway,” Solana said, grabbing a clipboard from inside the ambulance, “I have to run back inside. Ingat, Robles. Wag lampa, oki?”

She shut the ambulance door with a solid clang and strode off toward the ER entrance, leaving Jorwyn staring after her, caught between annoyance and the uneasy thought that maybe Solana was not entirely joking.

Just a few meters away, Avalora watched the automatic doors slide shut behind Jorwyn and Circe, her fingers still curled loosely around the roll of tape she had been holding. She let out a slow breath she had not realized she had been keeping in.

It was subtle, but the ache was there, a deep, bone-deep heaviness that came after certain instances. She flexed her right hand once before slipping it into her pocket, hiding the stiffness from anyone who might notice.

Solana brushed past her, heading toward the supply shelves. “VARL talaga. Palaging may pasabog,” she muttered under her breath, though there was no real bite in her tone.

Avalora only hummed in reply, keeping her gaze fixed on the open curtain Jorwyn had just walked through. She was not sure if it was curiosity, concern, or something else entirely, but the woman’s presence lingered in her mind like the smell of smoke clinging to fabric.

Shaking herself out of it, she crossed the ER floor toward Maerith, who was reviewing a patient’s chart at the station. “I’m going to finish reorganizing the trauma bag,” Avalora said. “Last run made a mess of it.”

Maerith nodded without looking up. “Good. We might be called in for a rural case, such as a strong windstorm in Mapulo. Prep extra saline and field dressings.”

“Copy,” Avalora said.

She carried the bag to a quiet corner table, unzipping it to reveal its neatly arranged compartments. The order was muscle memory by now: gauze, shears, airway kit, bandages, each checked, replaced, and aligned. Her movements were precise, almost meditative.

Her mind, however, drifted. Not to Jorwyn exactly, but to the moment her fingers had brushed that firefighter’s arm. The bleeding had stopped just a little too fast. The way her joints now felt heavier for it.

By the time she sealed the trauma bag again, her phone buzzed with a notification. 

Dispatch at 11 PM: Flood response — Barangay Mapulo. Heavy rains have caused water levels to rise to a level that reaches the waist in several residential streets. Multiple residents reported being trapped in their homes, some requiring immediate evacuation. VARL-SCAR back-up needed for joint rescue operations. Proceed with high-water gear and medical kits.

Avalora was already on her feet, slinging the bag over her shoulder.

The rain had been relentless all day, hammering the ambulance's roof in a deafening rhythm. The radio call and text messages had come in less than an hour ago, notifying them of the assistance they needed. It was the kind of rescue that needed every available team, which was why SCAR was dispatched alongside VARL.

But VARL was not at full strength. Only Garnet and Norelle had been cleared for duty because Marlowe and Jorwyn were still on medical leave after the last blaze. That left the two firefighters stretched thin and relying heavily on SCAR’s speed and organization to cover the gaps.

Avalora swung the door open before the ambulance even came to a complete stop, boots splashing into the knee-deep water. The air was thick with the smell of mud, gasoline, and the faint metallic tang of floodwater.

“Selene, triage on the basketball court, and anyone ambulatory gets moved uphill,” Maerith called over her shoulder. “Solana, keep the ambulance accessible. Don’t let it get blocked in.”

Maerith waded up beside Avalora, handing over the trauma bag. “Three trapped inside the greenhouse on the corner. Locals say one’s unconscious.”

Avalora’s jaw tightened. “Got it. I’ll go with VARL for the lift. Meet us halfway with the stretcher.”

The current was stronger than it looked, tugging at her legs with every step. Garnet was already hauling a crowbar, her expression grim as they reached the house. Norelle banged on the window frame, but there was no response, and then she forced her way through the half-submerged door.

Inside, the water was waist-high and rising. An elderly man clung to the top of a cabinet, shivering violently. Two younger women stood in the corner, trying to keep a third woman’s head above water.

“Nahihirapan na daw po siyang huminga” one of them shouted.

Avalora’s body moved before her mind caught up and waded across the room, taking the limp woman into her arms. Her head lolled against Avalora’s shoulder, lips tinged blue.

“Cap Vergara, get the others out!” Avalora shouted.

With the trauma bag balanced on a floating chair, she tilted the woman back, clearing her airway before sealing her mouth over hers. One breath. Two. She pressed her hands to the woman’s sternum, compressions steady despite the water swirling around them.

Come on.

A cough rattled out of the woman’s chest, followed by a weak gasp. Avalora kept one arm under her shoulders, the other gripping the doorframe as she guided them both outside.

Maerith was already on the way with the stretcher. “Vitals?” she called out.

“Shallow but improving,” Avalora answered. “We’ll stabilize in the ambulance.”

By the time they loaded the woman inside, Avalora’s scrubs clung to her like a second skin, streaked with mud and rainwater. She stripped off her gloves, snapping them into the biohazard bin, and immediately reached for an oxygen mask.

Her hands were steady, her voice calm as she reassured the patient, but deep in her bones, she could feel the drag —the invisible toll she had always ignored.

As of moment, a month has passed since VARL and SCAR were dispatched together. 

Avalora was already moving before Maerith had even finished reading. The trauma bag thumped against her shoulder as she slung it on, muscle memory guiding her body faster than thought. Selene snapped her gloves tight against her wrists with a sharp snap, the sound like a starting gun, while Solana spun the keys around one finger before catching them with a grin.

“On it,” Solana muttered, already pushing toward the bay doors.

Outside, the glare of the afternoon sun bounced off rows of white and red vehicles, blinding for a heartbeat. Engines idled, doors slammed, radios crackled.

From the yawning mouth of the fire station bay, VARL emerged complete this time. Not just Garnet and Norelle.

Jorwyn and Marlowe had returned.

With a helmet in one hand, jacket slung across her shoulder, Jorwyn walked with that same effortless swagger, as if the past month had been nothing more than a holiday. Her gaze swept across the asphalt and landed squarely on Avalora. For a heartbeat, the noise around them dulled, the whine of sirens, the clatter of boots, the sharp bark of orders, all fading beneath that single glance.

Avalora’s throat tightened. She dropped her eyes first, fingers tightening on the trauma bag strap until her knuckles whitened. Work first. Everything else could wait.

The octet climbed aboard and roared into the streets. Garnet drove the rescue truck, Solana the ambulance, both threading the narrow avenues with a precision that bordered on instinct. The vehicles leaned into turns, engines thrumming with restrained urgency. Safety mattered, but tonight, speed was the higher god.

They hit the outskirts in under ten minutes.

Smoke clawed at the sky in thick, roiling towers, staining the horizon black. Even from a distance, the flames looked feral, their teeth gnashing at the windows of the manufacturing plant, heat warping the air above it.

Civilians lingered at the edges of the cordons, their faces pale, some clutching each other, others shouting names lost in the chaos.

Three firefighting units were already deployed, hoses arcing silver streams into the fire. VARL’s own team manned the front line, movements sharp and efficient. Across the block, another wave of medics erected tents, marking triage zones with tape and lanterns that flickered against the haze.

Selene wasted no time. Planting herself at the heart of the triage zone, she cut through the panic like a blade. “Vitals here!” she barked, waving two dazed survivors toward her. “Fracture—left side, shallow breathing. Nurse Ava, I need hands!”

Avalora dropped beside her, pulling gloves on with quick jerks. She knelt by a young man whose leg bent the wrong way, her voice calm even as his sobs shook the air. “You’re alright. We’ve got you. Stay with me.”

Behind them, Maerith coordinated with the senior nurses already on the scene, her voice clipped but firm. Once the zones were squared, she darted back, helping Solana drag stretchers and oxygen tanks out of the rig, their boots scuffing against the asphalt.

On the comms, Norelle’s voice cut through, sharp as flint. “Left wing’s unstable. Civilians are still inside. Robles, Lim—you’re on point. Apuli, standby with reinforcement gear.”

Jorwyn’s head tilted toward Avalora as she passed, her grin infuriatingly light despite the fire clawing just ahead. She winked. “‘Wag mo ko susundan doon ah, Nurse.”

Avalora smirked, already wrist-deep in bandages. “Relax lang. Just don’t add yourself to my list again.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Jorwyn’s chest tightened, a flash memory rising unbidden: white walls, sterile lights, Avalora’s steady hands piecing her back together. The too-clean wound that should have scarred but did not. 

She shoved the thought away, adjusting her helmet with one hand as she and Marlowe sprinted for the burning entrance. The heat licked their faces, and as they disappeared into the smoke, the world behind them erupted into motion with shouts, orders, and cries of the wounded.

Yet, Avalora kept her head bent low over her patient, refusing to watch them vanish completely.

Inside, the blaze breathed like a living beast. Heat pressed down in waves, forcing sweat beneath their gear, while smoke clawed at their throats even through their masks. The mezzanine above shrieked as its steel ribs softened and warped, a drawn-out metallic scream that promised collapse.

“Robles, it’s unstable,” Marlowe warned, her eyes flicking upward.

Jorwyn’s radio crackled. “Cap Vergs! Apuli! Need help dito, please!” she barked, her voice harsh over the din.

Their boots pounded against scorched concrete. Moments later, Garnet and Norelle appeared through the haze, dragging steel stabilizers between them. With practiced hands, they jammed the braces into place, the metal shuddering under the strain but holding barely.

“That’s it. Go!” Norelle snapped, waving them through.

Jorwyn and Marlowe crawled past the groaning support, and there they found two survivors crushed beneath a collapsed scaffold, their cries muffled under twisted beams. The metal was blackened, fused into jagged shapes, but Jorwyn did not hesitate.

“On three—lift!” she ordered.

They heaved, the beams shrieking as they shifted. Jorwyn gritted her teeth, muscles straining until her shoulder brushed against a cable strung taut above her.

Norelle’s shout cut through the smoke. “Jorwyn, wait—!”

Whip!

The cable snapped loose, lashing down with brutal force. It cracked across Jorwyn’s shoulder, the impact like a brand searing straight through flesh. She staggered, hot pain tearing down her arm as blood began to seep fast, staining her gear. But she clenched her jaw, refusing to let go of the scaffold.

“Move it!” she growled through the pain, still dragging at the beams.

Then a hand seized her wrist, iron-tight and unyielding, and yanked her back. Jorwyn spun instinctively, ready to resist, but the face before her made her chest lurch.

Avalora.

She was dragging her out, her eyes sharp, her jaw set.

“Anong sinabi ko sayo kanina?” Avalora’s voice cut like glass, hard and furious, as she shoved Jorwyn down onto a crate just outside the danger zone.

“I’m fine! Kailangan nila ak—” Jorwyn shot back up instantly, blood running down her arm.

“Sit down! Ang laki niyan!” Avalora snapped, jabbing a finger at the gash ripping across her shoulder and down her tricep. The words cracked louder than the flames themselves.

Jorwyn scowled, breath ragged. “Ang sabi ko, I’m fine!”

Avalora’s only answer was a raised brow, calm, unimpressed, and commanding in its silence. The expression alone hit harder than the cable had, and for the briefest moment, Jorwyn faltered.

“Gear off, please,” Avalora barked to a nearby firefighter, who peeled Jorwyn’s jacket away. Avalora was already moving, kit open, hands gloved. Her fingers worked with surgical speed, each motion fluid, precise as if the chaos around her did not exist.

Jorwyn hissed as the antiseptic bit into the wound. Then suddenly there was nothing. No burn. No sting. Just a strange, spreading warmth under Avalora’s touch. The bleeding slowed, then stopped altogether. The stitching was swift, impossibly neat, the wound closing in seconds as if it had never been.

The fire in her shoulder was completely gone.

And then it came, a subtle yet undeniable current. It was not just healing, but something deeper, something that hummed in her veins. Her lungs felt clearer, her arms lighter, fatigue vanishing as though her body was quietly being reforged.

Jorwyn flexed her arm and shoulder. The pain was gone, erased like chalk on stone. But her mind screamed the impossibility.

Stitches don’t work like that. Bleeding doesn’t stop instantly. It can’t.

Her gaze darted back to Avalora, and in that split second, she swore she saw it. There was a flicker. Avalora’s face tightened, her hand clutching at the same shoulder, as though the wound had leapt into her body.

Jorwyn’s breath caught, and she felt her heart stutter.

What is going on?

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to look away before the thought could bloom.

Her arms are just tired. Too much stitching. Too much steadiness. That’s all.

“Nurse Ava! Priority case!” Selene’s voice cut through the smoke, sharp and commanding.

Avalora snapped her kit shut. She spared Jorwyn one unreadable glance, like something between warning and worry, before sprinting toward the new patient.

Maerith, jogging past with another stretcher, noticed the brief wince as Avalora flexed her shoulder. “Ngawit na agad?” she called over the noise, one brow arched in suspicion.

Avalora gave only a short nod, brushing it off as she dropped to her knees beside the next casualty. Her hands were steady again, already moving, as if nothing had happened.

But Jorwyn knew better.

And the thought she had buried clawed its way back to the surface, quiet and dangerous.

By the time the flames were finally beaten down, the night sky was thick with smoke that refused to fade, clinging like a shroud over the block. Fire hoses lay coiled across the pavement, still dripping, while embers hissed faintly in the blackened ruin of the plant. 

Survivors, soot-streaked and trembling, were being loaded into the backup ambulances with quiet efficiency. The wail of sirens was fading into the distance, leaving only the tired shuffle of boots and the low murmur of spent voices.

VARL had collapsed into a loose sprawl near their truck, helmets discarded, and sweat cutting pale streaks through soot-stained faces.

Garnet sat with her back against the tire, eyes closed, too tired to speak. Norelle scribbled mechanically into a clipboard, though her head kept dipping, the pen scratching lower each time. Marlowe leaned forward with both arms braced on her knees, muttering something under her breath that no one had the energy to catch.

Jorwyn sat on the truck’s step, rolling her shoulder again and again. Not because it hurt, but because it did not. Her hand flexed, her arm rotated, her muscles pulled taut and still, the memory of the wound refused to make sense. Every shift of motion only deepened the unease, that impossible absence of pain echoing louder than any throb might have.

Boots scuffed against asphalt. She looked up.

Avalora strode past, her trauma bag knocking against her hip, her braid clinging damply to her neck with sweat. She was dusted with ash, her gloves half-tucked into her waistband, her expression carefully neutral. But when her eyes flicked toward Jorwyn, the mask cracked just enough to reveal the curve of a smirk.

“Hopefully next time we meet,” Avalora said lightly, “you won’t need stitches again.”

Jorwyn let out a tired laugh, dry but genuine. “Guess I don’t have to be scared. SCAR’s really reliable naman pala.”

The smirk on Avalora’s face faltered and softened until it was no longer just confidence but something quieter, almost fond. Avalora’s gaze lingered for a breath longer than it should have, a silence that said more than her words had. Then she turned, called back into the tide of her team, and was gone, swallowed by the blur of uniforms and red lights.

Jorwyn watched her go, the sound of her boots already lost in the bustle. She looked down at her arm again, flexing, testing, searching for any trace of what should have been there. Each motion carried the same unyielding truth: it was not just skill. It was not just a clean technique.

It was something else.

Though she kept insisting to herself that it could not be and that Avalora was simply precise, practiced, brilliant at her craft, the thought gnawed its way deeper.

The drive back to the station was quiet, yet tense in its way, the engine humming steadily over the uneven roads. Maerith, ever the anchor, filled the silence with words of affirmation, her voice firm but warm. “You all did incredibly out there, girls. No one’s injured beyond the patients themselves, and you kept your composure kahit na sobrang lala ng condition kanina.”

Her gaze landed on Avalora for just a moment, sharp with scolding, though softened by pride. “That said, dragging someone out of that building like that? Sobrang delikado ‘yon, Ava. Don’t ever do that again—but…” She let the pause linger, then added, “…it was courageous. No doubt about it.”

The rest of the ride passed with a mix of quiet satisfaction and exhaustion. By the time they pulled into the station, the aftermath of the night was tangible as their supplies coated in ash and dust, oxygen tanks streaked with soot, stretchers sticky from blood and grime. They moved efficiently, passing gear from ambulance to storage, washing, refilling, and exchanging. It was dirty, exhausting work, but necessary.

Once the equipment was sorted, the three nurses disappeared toward the showers, leaving Avalora alone in the locker room. She moved slowly, arranging her things with a careful, almost mechanical precision, before letting her shoulders slump. Only when the hum of running water and muffled voices faded completely did she finally allow herself to acknowledge the ache.

Her fingers pressed into the sore muscles of her shoulder, and muttered curses escaped under her breath. Then, carefully, she pressed down on her leg, noting the subtle throb that pulsed under the surface.

She pulled off her boots, unfastened her uniform, and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her skin is clear. No burns, no scars, no trace of the night’s battles, yet every fiber of her body screamed with the memory of exertion. Throbbing everywhere, unseen but undeniable.

She shook her head slightly, forcing a tired breath through her teeth. She swore she was used to it. She was used to the aches, the bruises, the minor injuries tucked away in quiet corners of her body, but she could not ignore them. Not anymore. 

Especially lately, with a patient who did not seem to notice or care when they were hurt.

Her gaze lingered on the mirror, the quiet weight of responsibility pressing down in the empty locker room. She pressed her fingers into her shoulder again, and for a moment, let herself imagine the body of the patient she had pulled from the fire. 

Strong, reckless, and unafraid.

Avalora shook herself, muttering softly under her breath. She had to keep the pain in check. Always. It was part of the job, and it had to be.

But even so, she could not help the small knot of tension she carried in her chest. The kind that only patients like that could leave behind, even when she did not want to admit it.

Chapter Text

For months, VARL and SCAR had worked shoulder to shoulder on every call the town could throw at them. Fires that flared up in crowded markets caused no casualties. Animals trapped in a riverside warehouse. A half-built structure groaning under its unfinished weight. Even a traffic pile-up so massive that a sixteen-wheeler sprawled across three lanes like a felled beast, smaller cars crushed in its path.

They had seen it all, yet nothing had demanded more than their practiced stamina and routine grit. Nothing had pressed them to the breaking point.

Until now.

The earthquake struck Mapulon like a hammer, its tremors splitting the earth, toppling buildings, and shaking the city to its very bones. Streets had buckled, homes had collapsed, and entire neighborhoods had been reduced to heaps of stone and dust. The air still smelled of lime and mortar when the rescue units gathered for a briefing, the ground beneath them restless with aftershocks.

“Expect to be dispatched for days,” the commanding officer barked, her voice carrying across the open lot where dozens of units stood assembled. Dust clung to her uniform, sweat beading on her forehead, but her posture was unyielding. 

“Your supplies have already been stockpiled at your stations—enough to last a week. If more are needed, additional deliveries will be sent to your camps.”

The gathered teams stood stiff, silent, absorbing every word.

“As coordinated with the Chief Paramedic,” she continued, “the supervision and decision-making for all paramedic units will rest with the captains of the rescue teams.”

That earned a ripple of reactions—groans from several lead nurses who bristled at surrendering authority, muttered curses under their breath—while others straightened, relieved that the chain of command would be clear and singular.

The officer swept her gaze across them, pinning them with steel. “Head to your camps as soon as you’ve collected supplies. Please, be careful. Watch each other’s backs.”

The words struck deeper than orders; they sounded like a plea. The entire assembly lifted their heads higher, as if bracing themselves against the weight of what lay ahead.

“Dismissed.”

The command cracked like a gunshot. Instantly, the lot erupted in motion—boots pounding, engines rumbling, men and women racing for their vehicles. The air filled with the metallic slam of doors and the roar of ignition.

At SCAR’s ambulance, Solana leaned halfway out the driver’s side window, eyes narrowing at VARL across the lot. “Matagal-tagal ’yon, VARL,” she called, her grin wicked. “Pustahan ilang beses kayo matatahi?” With that, she slid into the driver’s seat, the ambulance lurching to life with a growl.

Garnet bristled, glaring daggers at the retreating vehicle. She still bore the faint line on her chin where she had once taken a single stitch after a slip on a slick surface, and she wore it like a scar of pride. “Catacutan,” she muttered furiously, jaw tight.

Norelle threw her head back with laughter, amused enough for both of them. She glanced sidelong at Jorwyn and Marlowe, curious whether they would laugh it off, too. But the sight that greeted her only made her cackle louder as both were glaring at the ambulance’s taillights with equal venom. At the same time, Selene and Avalora leaned out of the back windows, sticking their tongues out like mischievous children.

“Unbelievable,” Norelle said, shaking her head with an incredulous grin. “Sometimes I forget you guys are supposed to be professionals. Para kayong mga batang naglalaro sa playground.” 

The quartet boarded their truck.

“Drive,” Norelle ordered Garnet, amusement still coloring her tone. “Catch up to them before they get too smug.”

With a sharp twist of the wheel and a surge of acceleration, VARL’s truck leapt forward, engines rumbling as they gave chase, two units barreling down the road toward Mapulon and into the disaster waiting for them.

Once they reached their stations, both units moved like clockwork. VARL went straight for their storage bay, hauling crates of rations, fuel canisters, and medical kits into the back of their massive rescue truck. SCAR’s ambulance, smaller and already packed tight, could not carry everything on its own, so some of their gear was boarded into VARL’s truck for safekeeping.

“Careful with our things,” Maerith warned, watching Garnet load a box of sterile dressings into the truck.

Garnet snorted. “It wasn’t me who was careless enough almost to ram a railing last month.” Her gaze flicked toward Solana, who instantly shot her a dirty look.

The memory hung between them, unspoken but vivid, from that chaotic morning when Solana, in a rush to make her team reach for a formation, had swerved hard to avoid a stray cat darting across the road. The ambulance had tilted dangerously close to the railing, her passengers gripping their seats and bracing for impact, only for Solana’s reflexes to save them at the very last second. They had rolled up to the commander’s office scratchless, breathless, but still not making it on time.

By the time the paramedic unit assembled on the lot, VARL was already standing in formation, posture straight and eyes forward, waiting with military crispness.

Maerith glanced at her watch, wincing at the time. They were seventeen minutes late. She stepped forward, voice calm but apologetic. “Apologies, ma’am. We had a large emergency in Amihan; we couldn’t abandon it.”

The commander’s expression softened. “I was given a heads up by your Chief Nurse,” she assured her with a nod. “No fault of yours.”

Then she straightened, voice rising so all could hear. “Now, I’d like to introduce you to each other formally.”

The octet snapped to attention.

“VARL,” she began, gesturing to the four firefighters, “led by Captain Norelle Vergara. Fire Officer Garnet Apuli, Fleet Officer. And our Inferno Diver duo—Fire Officers Marlowe Lim and Jorwyn Robles.”

She shifted, indicating the nurses. “And SCAR—headed by Lead Nurse Maerith Ricalde. Solana Catacutan, Fleet Officer. Nurse Selene Sevilleja, triage nurse. And Nurse Avalora Arceta, first aid specialist.”

The two teams stepped forward, handshakes exchanged—firm grips, polite nods, the kind of formality that barely masked curiosity. As quickly as the introductions were made, the commander dismissed them to their duties.

No sooner had she walked away than Solana folded her arms, a smirk curling across her face. “VARL, VARL, VARL,” she sing-songed, drawing out the name with deliberate mockery. 

Maerith immediately slapped a hand to her forehead, groaning. She knew exactly where this was going.

“First meeting natin to ah,” Solana started, “na di kayo nakapila sa harap ni Nurse Ava para malagyan ng antiseptic noh?” Her eyes twinkled with mischief.

The jab landed perfectly. Garnet, who still wore a fresh bandage on her chin from a recent mishap, was the first to snap back. “Weh, late na nga kayo, tapos nagyayabang pa?” She was not in the mood for a full counterattack, so she settled for a blunt low blow that she knew would strike the esteemed driver.

“Excuse me!” Solana shot back, affronted. “Maerith explained why we were late! At kung hindi ko pinaandar yung ambulance na parang lumilipad, baka hindi kami umabot dito. Almost bangga kami kanina!”

Her voice had risen with indignation, and that tiny slip was all Garnet needed.

A wicked grin split across Garnet’s face. “Ayun oh. Narinig niyo ‘yon? Almost bangga. You seriously trust yourselves with a driver na muntik na kayong ilibing ng buhay?” She jerked a thumb at her truck. “Look how massive this thing is. I’ve never made my team nervous even once.”

That lit the fuse, and their argument took off as Solana boasted about reflexes, Garnet swearing by stability, each one louder than the last. Their barbed words flew back and forth, sharp but not cruel, both feeding off the fire of competition.

Meanwhile, the rest of the octet simply watched, amusement written on their faces.

Avalora and Maerith leaned casually against the ambulance, smirking at the display. 

Marlowe and Jorwyn exchanged glances, both pretending disapproval while their eyes gleamed with barely-contained laughter. 

Selene folded her arms, tongue poking the inside of her cheek as though resisting the urge to join in.

And Norelle, ever the captain, just shook her head with a long-suffering sigh. “Parang mga bata. All of you.”

Still, no one intervened because deep down, they were all enjoying the show.

At present, the sun was already slanting low by the time VARL and SCAR rolled out from camp, their convoy of two vehicles stirring up dust along the uneven road. Tents had been pitched, supply crates stacked neatly under tarpaulins, and their meager camp stoves left cooling after a quick meal. 

Now, the octet was headed for their designated sector, which is a residential block not far from the fault line.

The closer they drew, the quieter the vehicle became. Even Solana, usually quick with a sharp remark, sat in brooding silence as the devastation unfolded outside the windows. Whole houses had been reduced to cracked foundations and jagged piles of rubble. Roofs slanted at impossible angles, walls sheared clean through as though sliced by some invisible hand. The road itself was half-swallowed by debris like broken glass, shattered beams, and the scattered remnants of lives lived in what was once home.

The sigh that passed through the octet was collective, heavy, the weight of grief carried in unison.

When they arrived, VARL wasted no time. Captain Norelle gave crisp orders, and the firefighters unloaded their gear: thermal cameras, crowbars, hydraulic cutters, and coils of rope. SCAR, meanwhile, established its lifeline with a compact medical tent beside the ambulance and rescue truck, stocked with bandages, splints, oxygen tanks, and IVs. Their base of triage would be ready for anyone pulled from the wreckage.

After a quick discussion, it was agreed that Solana and Selene would join VARL’s search. With the firefighters, they could cover more ground, and Selene’s triage skills could make the difference between survival and loss. That left Maerith, Avalora, and Garnet to man the tent and support those brought in.

The work began.

The first cry of triumph came from Jorwyn, who emerged from the wreck of a collapsed bungalow carrying a woman in her arms, pale but alive. Avalora rushed forward instantly, voice steady but gentle as she checked the survivor’s breathing and pulse, stabilizing her arm with practiced hands.

Then another and another.

For three relentless hours, the cycle repeated. The crash of beams being pried apart, muffled shouts from beneath the rubble, the strain of bodies hoisted free, and at the heart of it, SCAR’s nurses working with swift precision, stemmed bleeding, resetting fractures, easing pain. By the time the sun dipped toward the horizon, they had saved eighteen souls.

When Maerith finally radioed for transport, the relief was palpable. A battered bus soon arrived, and the survivors were escorted aboard, bound for safer ground. With dusk falling fast, both units began packing their gear, fatigue settling into their bones.

Back at camp, the smell of warm rice and broth drifted from their cooking pots. They gathered in a circle, sitting cross-legged or leaning against crates, bowls in hand. For the first time that day, the air was light again, tinged with a hint of laughter.

“Sevilleja was full of energy out there,” Marlowe remarked between bites, her mouth full but her tone approving.

“Told you it was a good idea to bring me!” Selene beamed, cheeks flushed with pride. Marlowe simply raised her thumb in agreement, the gesture enough to send Selene into another fit of grinning.

Across the circle, Garnet and Solana sat side by side, paired deliberately by Norelle in hopes that the two would ease their rivalry through teamwork. It hadn’t worked.

“Dapat kay Jorwyn na lang ako sumama!” Solana declared loudly, her grin all teeth.

“Edi mas okay?” Garnet shot back, tossing her head. “I’d be happy to see you go tomorrow.”

Their argument sparked again, back-and-forth barbs flying while the others looked on with poorly-concealed amusement. Even Norelle, spoon halfway to her lips, merely sighed into her meal instead of intervening.

On the quieter edge of the circle, Avalora sat with her bowl untouched, watching her teammates with a soft smile that never quite reached her tired eyes. Her silence drew Jorwyn, who slid into the space beside her with the natural ease of someone used to carrying more weight than most.

“Nakakapagod noh?” Jorwyn asked, her voice low.

Avalora shook her head. “Not as tired as you all are,” she replied, offering a faint smile in return.

Jorwyn tilted her head, a note of respect softening her voice. “I’m truly impressed, Nurse Arceta. Out of eighteen cases, fourteen were fractures—and still they said you steadied them so well, it felt as if the healing had already begun before we even brought them in.”

Avalora’s laugh was small and surprised. She ducked her head, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Well… I’m just fulfilling my childhood dream.”

Jorwyn’s brow lifted, wordless curiosity flickering in her eyes.

“To be a good nurse,” Avalora finished, smiling down at her hands.

There was a pause, quiet but not empty. Then Jorwyn smiled too, a rare gentleness softening her sharp features. “You definitely are fulfilling it.”

And for a brief moment, amid the ruin and exhaustion, Avalora let herself believe her words.

On their second day, the team had split into pairs to comb through a collapsed boarding house. Dust choked the air, and every step made the remaining walls groan with warning. Jorwyn was first up a battered stairwell when the wood gave out under her boot.

“Jorwyn!” Marlowe lunged, catching her wrist just in time to stop a complete fall, but not before Jorwyn’s shin smashed hard against a jutting beam. She cursed through gritted teeth.

By the time they wrestled her free, Avalora was already kneeling beside her. “Let me see.” Her voice was steady, professional, but her hands were quick, almost too quick, brushing over the torn pant leg.

“That’s not just a bruise,” Marlowe muttered, seeing the swelling. “Could be a fracture, Jor.”

Avalora pressed her palm against the injury, and her head bowed as if to check the alignment. Jorwyn bit back a hiss at the initial sting and then blinked. The pain dulled almost instantly, like a wave receding. By the time Avalora wrapped the leg in a firm bandage, Jorwyn could put weight on it again. Not perfectly, but enough. Too much for what should have been a break.

“Swerte mo naman,” Avalora murmured, tying off the cloth. “No fracture. Just a bad bruise.”

Jorwyn stared at her, narrow-eyed. Swerte, huh?

Maybe I imagined it. Perhaps the pain wasn’t as bad as I thought. But no, I know what a near-fracture feels like. You don’t just get back on your feet in minutes. You don’t. And yet I am. Walking, breathing through it as if it’s nothing. And then her smile was too calm, too practiced. I’m not imagining that. I can’t be. There’s something about Avalora, something she’s covering up.

The third day came, and while clearing debris at a grocery store ruin, Garnet dislodged a broken shelf, sending shards of glass tumbling. Jorwyn reacted instinctively, shoving Garnet out of the way and catching the edge of her forearm against the jagged wreckage.

Blood welled instantly, a long gash from her wrist to elbow.

“Damn it,” Garnet swore, gripping her. “You didn’t have to—”

“Stop fussing. I’ve had worse,” Jorwyn muttered, though her jaw tightened.

Avalora was there in seconds, snapping open her kit. She cleaned the wound swiftly, but Jorwyn noticed something odd again as the bleeding slowed almost the instant Avalora’s fingers pressed to the skin.

“You’ll be scared if you keep throwing yourself around like that,” Avalora said lightly, already finishing the wrap. She pressed her palm once more against the bandage, her eyes flicking up to meet Jorwyn’s. For a second, her gaze was almost a warning.

Jorwyn flexed her muscles experimentally. Yet again, there was no pain and no throb as if the cut had never been deep in the first place.

Her suspicion sharpened. 

That evening, while the teams shared meager rations around their camp, Jorwyn absent-mindedly rubbed at her arm where the glass had cut her earlier that day. She tugged the bandage free, curious.

The skin was smooth and had not even a faint scar.

She caught Avalora watching from across the firelight, her face unreadable, as though she already knew what Jorwyn had discovered.

Jorwyn let the bandage fall into the dirt and forced a grin at Garnet’s banter. 

I should still be bleeding because that cut went deep. I saw my muscles underneath. Garnet saw it too. But as soon as Ava touched it, wrapped it, and suddenly it was nothing more than a scratch. She acted like it was antiseptic, gauze, and technique. But antiseptics don’t stop bleeding like that. Technique doesn’t erase pain in a heartbeat. Her eyes warned me not to question it, as if she knew I was watching too closely. 

She’s hiding something, and I think it’s the kind of secret you don’t share lightly.

They have reached the fourth day. An aftershock rippled through the zone while the teams were still inside a half-toppled school building. The ground buckled, and the concrete cracked. Everyone scrambled.

Jorwyn pushed a dazed civilian toward the exit when a falling beam grazed her back and knocked her flat. The impact drove the air from her lungs, and she was certain something had torn.

She dimly heard Norelle shouting, “Medic! Ava!”

Then Avalora was there, hands pressed between Jorwyn’s shoulder blades. There was a glow, though not visible, that was felt, radiating through Jorwyn’s chest, warmth chasing away the icy stab of pain. Her ragged breath evened. Her ribs, surely cracked, seemed whole again in seconds.

“Nothing’s broken,” Avalora declared once she helped Jorwyn sit up. “You’ll feel sore, but that’s all.”

Jorwyn knew damn well that cracked ribs do not stop hurting in mere heartbeats. She met Avalora’s calm expression, and something unspoken passed between them. Jorwyn did not voice it, but in her chest burned a single thought: You’re not normal. And I’m going to find out why.

The last day of their deployment dawned gray and heavy, as though the sky itself had grown weary. The week had taken its toll, and their faces were haggard with fatigue; their uniforms were permanently smudged with ash and dirt, and their voices were hoarse from shouting against the rubble. Yet there was a quiet determination among both VARL and SCAR. 

One more day. One more sweep through the wreckage before they pulled out.

By midmorning, the convoy reached the final zone, a cluster of apartment blocks crumpled in on themselves, their concrete slabs piled like toppled cards. The air still carried the acrid scent of dust and gas, and silence pressed against their ears like a weight and broken only by the occasional creak of settling stone.

“Let’s move fast but carefully,” Captain Norelle instructed, her gaze sweeping the field. “We clear as much as we can before sundown. And for the love of God, please stay sharp.”

Teams split once again. VARL’s firefighters hauled out saws and jacks, while SCAR set up their medical tent close to the edge of the danger zone. Selene and Solana rejoined Norelle, Jorwyn, and Marlowe, while Garnet remained with Maerith and Avalora. Jorwyn lingered only long enough to exchange a look with Avalora—half a grin, half reassurance—before following her squad into the rubble.

For hours, the work was brutal. Survivors were few this late into the mission, and every faint cry drew them deeper into unstable ruins. Twice, slabs shifted dangerously, forcing the firefighters to scramble back before re-approaching. The tension grew taut, stretched thin as wire.

It was late afternoon when disaster struck.

Jorwyn had been the first to crawl into the gutted remains of what once was a stairwell, following the muffled sound of a child’s voice. She had just reached the small figure trapped beneath a beam when the floor above them groaned, a deep, shuddering warning.

“Jorwyn, get out of there!” Marlowe shouted from above, her voice ragged.

“‘Di ko siya iiwan dito!” Jorwyn roared back, bracing her shoulder under the beam to lever it just high enough for the boy to scramble free. She shoved the child toward the waiting hands above. Relief surged through her chest, but only just for a second.

Because the world collapsed.

The ceiling gave way with a deafening crack. Dust swallowed the light, and a concrete slab crashed down, striking Jorwyn’s side and pinning her against twisted rebar. Agony flared white-hot through her ribs, stealing her breath.

“JORWYN!” Voices blurred together—Marlowe’s, Solene’s, Solana’s, and Norelle’s—but none of them could reach her in time.

Her vision tunneled, the edges darkening. She coughed and tasted iron. And then through the chaos, a figure broke past the others, ducking beneath falling grit and crawling into the wreckage with reckless speed.

Avalora.

Her hands were on Jorwyn in an instant, pressing hard against the wound, her face pale but steady. “Stay with me,” she commanded, voice sharp with urgency. “Naririnig mo ba ko? Shit. Don’t you dare close your eyes!”

Jorwyn tried to laugh, but it came out as a ragged wheeze. “Guess I finally… scared you, huh?”

Avalora did not answer. Her palms pressed harder, and then again Jorwyn felt it. That same impossible current she had dismissed before was now undeniable. A warmth seeps deep into the shattered edges of her ribs, knitting bone and torn tissue together with a precision no human hands could claim. 

It was not just first aid. 

It was not a splint and gauze. 

It was something older, stranger—something Avalora was not supposed to have.

Pain dulled into something distant. Her breath returned to her lungs. Her vision cleared, though Avalora’s face hovered close, her dark eyes wide with effort and fear. For a heartbeat, Jorwyn thought she saw light haloing faintly around her fingers, like the afterglow of a firefly. Then it was gone.

“Y-You’re… kidding me,” Jorwyn rasped, testing her ribs and finding them whole. She should have been broken. She should have been coughing blood, but instead, she could move. She was alive.

Avalora’s expression shuttered instantly. She leaned back, tugging Jorwyn’s arm over her shoulder with brisk efficiency. “You’re fine. I stabilized you. Now move, before the rest of this place comes down.”

And that was it. No explanation, no hesitation. She hauled Jorwyn out of the rubble with surprising strength, as though nothing had happened at all.

By the time they reached the safety of the open street, the others swarmed around them with Marlowe clapping Jorwyn’s back, Solana muttering curses through relieved tears, and Norelle issuing orders with her usual calm. The child they had saved clung to a rescuer’s leg, crying softly but alive.

No one seemed to notice what Avalora had done. 

No one except Jorwyn.

She stood among her teammates, laughing weakly at their relief, hiding the truth behind a crooked grin. But her mind raced to the way the pain had vanished. The impossible way her ribs had knit and glowed at Avalora’s fingertips.

She did not confront her. Not there, not with so many eyes watching. But as the campfire burned low that night and the team drifted into exhausted sleep, Jorwyn lay awake beneath the stars, flexing her side over and over.

She was healed. She is still whole and alive.

Her theory was no longer a theory. Avalora Arceta was not just a nurse with gifted hands. She was something more—something hidden, something extraordinary.

And Jorwyn was one hundred percent certain of it.

The camp had fallen into a bone-deep silence. Their last night on deployment, and exhaustion blanketed everyone like a heavy quilt. Some slept on mats inside the tents, others under the stars, too tired to care about the chill. The crackle of the campfire had dimmed to embers.

Jorwyn lay on her back, one arm folded beneath her head, the other resting over the side of her ribs. They should have been fractured or shattered. No way she should be breathing this easily. She pressed harder, testing, but still nothing. No sharp edges, no stabbing agony. Just the faint memory of pain, like a nightmare fading after dawn.

She turned her head slightly, eyes landing on Avalora. The nurse was seated near the dying fire, knees drawn up, her profile calm as she mended a torn strap from her bag. Her hands moved with deliberate care, but Jorwyn could not unsee how those hands had done something impossible.

She healed me.

The thought rolled over and over like waves crashing on a rock. Not treated and not stabilized. 

Healed.

Jorwyn’s heart thudded unevenly, a mix of awe and fear. She had always respected Avalora’s skill and admired her calm under pressure, but this was beyond the realm of medicine. It was beyond human. And Avalora had just carried on as though it had not happened. As though Jorwyn would accept the lie without question.

So that’s who you are, Jorwyn thought, narrowing her eyes slightly. Or at least, part of who you are. You’ve been hiding it all along.

But why? Why keep a gift like that a secret? Fear of discovery? Fear of being used? Or maybe Avalora did not trust anyone enough to share the truth.

Jorwyn exhaled slowly and shut her eyes. She was not going to confront her. Not yet. Not when Avalora did not want it exposed. But the secret now bound them, one that Jorwyn knew and Avalora did not know that she knew.

One thing was sure: she could no longer look at Avalora the same way.

When they returned from their mission, VARL and SCAR slipped back into routine—paperwork, reports, debriefings, the slow unwinding after a week in disaster zones. To everyone else, it was life returning to normal.

But not for Jorwyn.

Her eyes tracked Avalora in ways that she had not before. In the cafeteria, Avalora chuckled with Selene and Maerith. During drills, she carried her kit with that same unshakable composure. Even in downtime, she stitches clothes or reads with her hair tied back loosely.

She watched for the little things, like the way Avalora’s hands lingered too long when checking a pulse, as if listening to more than blood flow. The strange light in her eyes when someone was in pain, a flicker of something ancient, deeper than empathy. The rare moments she excused herself early, disappearing into quiet corners alone.

It was subtle, the kind of attention no one else would notice. To the team, Jorwyn was just her usual self—cheerful, steady, teasing Garnet, throwing herself into drills with reckless energy. But behind her smiles, her mind was sharp, cataloging every detail.

And the more she saw, the more her conviction solidified: Avalora was hiding power. A secret buried so deep it would’ve gone unnoticed by anyone else.

Jorwyn did not breathe a word, not to Garnet, not to Norelle, not even in jest. Instead, she tucked the knowledge away, a hidden card in her hand.

Because if Avalora could heal her ribs in an instant, Jorwyn could not help but wonder what else she was capable of, and she intended to find out.

Avalora lay flat on her bed, the familiar weight of her sheets pressing against her chest. The room was quiet, too quiet after days of sirens, shouting, and the constant rumble of crumbling stone. The silence should have been a comfort. Instead, it made her thoughts louder, sharper, impossible to ignore.

Her gaze drifted toward the ceiling, unfocused. No matter how she tried, her mind kept pulling her back to the mission. Back to the dust-choked streets and the broken buildings. Back to her.

Jorwyn.

Days after the earthquake mission, Avalora swallowed hard, curling her fingers against the fabric of her blanket. 

Reckless—so damn reckless, charging into danger again and again without a thought for herself.  

Every shift of rubble, every plunge into half-collapsed homes, it was always Jorwyn at the front, daring the world to collapse around her. Avalora could still see her staggering out, face streaked with soot, blood running down her arm. Could still feel the way her pulse spiked every time she was forced to patch her back together.

Her chest ached at the memory. The countless times she had pressed her palms to Jorwyn’s skin, pretending to apply pressure, to disinfect, to bind. She has to pretend because beneath the gauze and the salves, what truly knit the wounds shut was something she should have never let anyone see. Heat flooding through her hands, flesh sealing too fast, bones easing back into place.

She bit her lip hard, her throat tight.

Jorwyn noticed.

She had tried to hide it by lingering longer to make the healing seem slower, swapping bandages when nothing was wrong with them, even feigning a frown as if she doubted her work. But Avalora had seen the way Jorwyn’s gaze lingered. It was sharp, searching, far too aware. Every time she looked up, she found those dark eyes on her, watching and questioning.

Her stomach twisted.

“She probably knows…” Avalora whispered into the stillness of her room. Her voice broke. “Or—at least she suspects.”

The thought made her want to curl in on herself. 

Here, in her own home, with the curtains drawn and the world outside humming quietly with life, she finally allowed the fear to surface.

If Jorwyn spoke, if word spread, her secret, then her entire life would shatter. She would be exposed, dissected, and feared. And once people feared you, there was no undoing it.

Avalora turned onto her side, hugging her pillow tightly against her chest. She did not want this. She did not want anyone to know, least of all Jorwyn. 

But what choice did she have? To let her bleed out? To let her ribs break and stay broken? To watch her suffer when Avalora had the power to stop it?

“No,” she whispered fiercely into the pillow. The word was shaky, but it was final.

Even if it meant Jorwyn’s suspicion grew, even if it meant risking everything, Avalora could not stop herself. She could not let Jorwyn come to harm. Not when the thought alone made her chest feel like it was caving in.

But the fear was still there, icy and unrelenting. Sooner or later, Jorwyn would put the pieces together. And when she did, Avalora was unsure whether she would run, stay silent, or destroy her secret forever.

She closed her eyes, clutching the pillow tighter, willing sleep to come. But all she saw behind her eyelids was Jorwyn’s face—bloodied, reckless, and watching her with eyes that knew too much.

Across town, in the stillness of her bedroom, Jorwyn lay flat against the mattress, staring at the ceiling fan turning slowly and lazily. 

Her jaw set, memory blazing sharp in her mind. The crushing weight of the beam. The sharp crack of bone. The kind of injury that should have put her down for months. And then Avalora’s hands are on her. The flood of impossible warmth, the pain ripping away like smoke in the wind.

Jorwyn sat up, pressing her palm to her ribs, where there should have been bruises, fractures, agony. She laughed under her breath, but it was not humor as it was disbelief giving way to awe.

“She healed me,” she whispered into the shadows. Her voice trembled, alive. “I can’t believe she’s able to do something like that.”

All the other moments she had brushed aside, the cuts that closed too quickly and the burns that faded instantly, lined up now like pieces of a puzzle. 

Avalora, always near.

Avalora, always touching her. 

Avalora, always watching when she thought no one noticed.

This time left no room for doubt. Her suspicion had grown into certainty. 

Avalora was not just a nurse. She was a healer.

Jorwyn paced the length of her room, restless, fire burning in her chest. Part of her wanted to confront her, to demand the truth right then and there. But another part whispered patience. Avalora was hiding, protecting this part of herself. If she cornered her, she might retreat or worse, shut her out completely.

Her reflection in the window showed wide, burning eyes. A smile tugged at her lips.

“I knew it,” she murmured. “I knew it, Avalora.”

Two women, two rooms, one night. Avalora gripped her secret like it was slipping through her fingers. Jorwyn clutched her certainty like a spark she refused to let die. Both are afraid. Both restless. Both circling the same truth, as one is desperate to hide it, the other is desperate to hold it.

Chapter Text

Due to the Mapulon earthquake mission, VARL had actually filed a request with their higher-ups, requesting that SCAR be stationed permanently in their building. 

The reason? 

Training. 

VARL would set up programs to sharpen SCAR’s disaster and emergency management knowledge, and also have the quartet join in during rescue ops if more hands were needed. In return, SCAR would teach VARL the basics of first aid sufficient to handle minor emergencies during missions and, more importantly, to treat their own injuries.

It was a significant change. 

Back then, VARL almost always came home without a scratch, but lately, with missions becoming riskier, the team had taken more hits. SCAR saw that trend and decided to close the gap; if VARL was going to keep stepping into danger, they needed to know how to look after their own.

The Mapulon mission had also shifted the group dynamic. Eight people, once from two different worlds, now functioned almost like one large squad. The mission forced them to rely on each other, and while the banter and playful competition never stopped, there was an underlying understanding now—an awareness of each other’s limits, strengths, and quirks.

“Okay, seriously,” Selene broke the silence one afternoon, leaning against the table where the group was gathered. “Pag tayo-tayo lang, first name basis na lang tayo.”

Garnet frowned. “No. Last names. That’s how we were trained.”

“Trained my ass,” Selene comments, rolling her eyes. “We’ve already been through hell together. Formalities can take a nap.”

“Oo nga! As if hindi pa tayo nagka-bonding,” Maerith chimed in, nodding. “Last names feel too formal. Keep it for when we’re with others. Dito, it’s fine to loosen up.”

“We even call our leader by her first name, diba Maerith?” Solana added, grinning. “Besides, mine is too pretty not to use.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Maerith said, though she was smiling.

“Sige na nga, Solana Marie.” The words came from Jorwyn, who was sitting on the side, eating an apple. She was perched next to Avalora, who was utterly absorbed in tying and untying a constrictor knot with a steady rhythm. Jorwyn swallowed her bite and leaned closer, nodding toward the rope. “Pull both ends, Ava. Para mas masikip.”

Avalora did so without comment, but Solana’s sharp laugh cut through. “Wow. She skipped straight past first name and went by nickname.”

Jorwyn only scoffed, crunching loudly into her apple.

Then— “Ow! Ow—ouchie!”

Everyone’s head snapped toward Selene, who had somehow managed to slice her palm. She was supposed to be untying her own practice knot, but impatient, she had grabbed a sharp tool to cut through it. It took Marlowe less than a second to groan.

“Ang kulit mo talaga,” Marlowe muttered, already motioning toward Avalora. “Go. Get that treated.”

“Avaaaa,” Selene whined, holding out her hand dramatically and leaning into the nurse’s space.

Avalora did not even look up, still focused on her rope.

“She’s busy,” Jorwyn said, smirking. “Have Solana do it.” She glanced at Avalora again, eyes glued to the knot like it was a matter of life and death.

Selene frowned. “Ang panget bandage ni Sol.”

Solana’s hand instantly shot up, middle finger in full display. “Try me, Sel.”

“Bring me my bag,” Avalora finally said, flat and distracted, not even bothering to look at the girl.

Selene lit up, hopping to fetch the trauma bag and plopping right in front of Avalora. The nurse let out the faintest sigh, set her rope aside, and got to work.

Jorwyn, still beside her, leaned closer without realizing it. She watched as Avalora carefully cleaned the wound, her movements quick but precise. The cut was nasty—a clean slice right across Selene’s palm. Jorwyn knew hand wounds hurt like hell, but Selene only winced faintly, lips pursed as if it was more annoying than painful.

Still, Jorwyn’s focus was not on Selene. Her eyes were locked on Avalora’s hands, on the way her fingers moved, on how calm she looked. She leaned forward without noticing how obvious it was.

Selene did, though. “Why are you staring like someone’s about to steal my hand if you look away?” she asked, squinting.

Jorwyn jolted, laughing nervously. Her gaze flicked up and straight into Avalora’s wide eyes, frozen halfway through wrapping the bandage. “ Uh—early lesson!” Jorwyn blurted. “You’ll teach us this eventually anyway, right? Kaya I’m watching na. Directly from our best nurse.” She tacked on a sheepish grin for good measure.

Selene narrowed her eyes, but then shrugged. “Fair enough.”

When Avalora finally tied off the bandage, Jorwyn noticed it again—the faintest tremor in the nurse’s hands, the subtle way she flexed her fingers as if shaking off an invisible weight. For just a moment, Avalora’s own hand curled against her palm, tight like she was holding something in.

Jorwyn’s chest tightened. The suspicion was stronger now, loud in the back of her head: Avalora was healing her patients, taking their pain onto herself.

Why isn't anyone else noticing this? She said to herself.

But then again, she said nothing aloud. She only watched, filing the moment away.

VARL’s fire extinguishing team, 3DS, headed by Fire Captain Win De Leon with his crew Ron De Leon, Eon Daez, and Mar Sager, had been tasked with running a small fire drill at the nearby public school. Since it was also an opportunity to practice cross-training, they brought SCAR along to handle the medical aspects.

The 3DS team got busy at the quadrangle, setting up their demo equipment, which included hoses, a set of portable extinguishers, and a metal drum that they would later ignite for practice. 

Meanwhile, VARL split off, with half of them working with the school principal to finalize the drill sequence, while the other half was positioned along the hallways to help guide the students. 

SCAR, for now, waited by the tent they had pitched near the quadrangle, their tables lined with supplies. Later, they would demonstrate burn management, wound dressing, and how to aid individuals who faint during evacuations.

The heat was relentless that morning, sunlight pressing down on everyone like an extra weight. By the time the alarm sounded, the drill was already running smoothly, with classrooms emptied efficiently, students filing down staircases under VARL’s firm but gentle direction. Soon, the quadrangle was buzzing with lines of kids fanning themselves with their notebooks.

While 3DS began explaining how to handle a fire extinguisher, a slight commotion rippled at the corner of the 3rd graders’ line. Norelle instantly spotted that something was wrong and moved quickly, weaving past the kids.

A girl stood there, one hand clamped under her nose, blood dripping between her fingers.

“Jorwyn, over here!” Norelle called.

Jorwyn was beside her in a second. Without hesitation, she scooped the girl into her arms. “It’s gonna be okay, kiddo,” she said steadily, even as the child squirmed. “Dalhin ka namin sa mga magagaling na nurse, okay?” Together, she and Norelle hurried her toward SCAR’s tent.

At the sight, Avalora was already on her feet, laying out gauze and tissues. Solana dragged a fan closer, its blades whirring to warm the air at first but then slowly cooling it.

The girl had been calm until then; however, the moment she saw the medical setup, her composure cracked. She started crying, thrashing, and the harder she panicked, the heavier the bleeding became.

Avalora’s heart jumped. She could feel her own pulse spiking. She knew what she should do: stay calm, keep pressure, and coach the child’s breathing. However, the kid’s panic was contagious, and her hands moved instinctively instead of according to protocol. She pressed a tissue lightly to the girl’s nose, focusing harder than she should have.

And just like that, in less than five seconds, the bleeding stopped.

The girl hiccuped mid-sob, then blinked. She touched her nose, finding nothing but a faint smear of dried blood. Her eyes lifted to Avalora, vast and shimmering.

“Are you like… the fairy godmother my teacher tells stories about?” she asked, wonder dripping from her voice.

A silence fell. 

Even Solana, Maerith, and Selene, who had seen Avalora work countless times, exchanged uncertain and suspicious looks.

Jorwyn noticed it instantly. Too many eyes, too many thoughts. If she did not cut in now, questions would spill.

“She’s just that good,” Jorwyn said quickly, slipping into an easy grin. “Nurse Avalora’s a legend. Even other nurses can’t keep up with her.”

Avalora’s head snapped toward her, brows knitting like she was saying What are you doing?

But Jorwyn ignored the silent question. She wiped the sweat running down her temple and nodded toward the quadrangle.  

“Look—3DS is wrapping it up. Demo’s almost done.” Her tone was sharp enough to redirect attention. “Prep na kayo, my great SCAR. Time for your turn.”

The deflection surprisingly worked as Solana rolled her eyes, muttering something about Jorwyn’s theatrics, but she had already gone to fix their materials. Maerith busied herself adjusting the sample burn pads, while Selene went to double-check their handouts.

The strange moment dissolved into the noise of the drill.

Still, Avalora had not let go of the look she shot Jorwyn. Her eyes were heavy, conflicted with half-questioning, half-accusing. It was as if she were silently asking: Are you covering for me? On purpose?

Jorwyn only shrugged, biting into the inside of her cheek as though nothing was wrong.

But her mind was far from still.

When the fire drill wrapped up, the three joined units trudged back to the station, sticky with sweat, everyone muttering curses about the heat. But despite the complaints, no one denied the drill was worth it. Disaster risk management and preparedness were not optional; they were essential life skills. Teaching kids, no matter how hot the sun, was a job that mattered.

It was also the first time SCAR, VARL, and 3DS sat together in the station cafeteria. If VARL and SCAR alone were already loud and chaotic, the addition of the firefighting crew only made the volume worse. The cafeteria practically hummed with voices, laughter, and the clang of spoons hitting trays.

“Catacutan,” Garnet called out over the noise, grinning, “De Leon said he wanted to see you drive a firetruck.”

Solana whipped her head around, glaring. “Aling De Leon?!” she shot back, stabbing her fork into the air. “And what did we say about a first-name basis? Lalo na dalawa De Leon dito?” Her voice rose, halfway a rant and halfway a challenge. “Huwag na huwag mo ako hinahamon, ah—sinong De Leon ba kasi yan!”

The boys snorted into their food, entertained.

“Si Win kasi ’yon, Sol,” Eon admitted, completely dropping the formalities she hated.

Solana squinted at him, then broke into a grin, giving him a thumbs-up. “Good boy.”

The table broke into laughter again, and the banter carried on—half-roasting, half-storytelling about past missions they had not shared. At one end of the table, though, Jorwyn was not paying much attention. Her gaze kept drifting across to Avalora, who was pinching the bridge of her nose, her expression faintly strained.

“Was the dust earlier too much?” Jorwyn asked, leaning slightly forward.

Avalora blinked at her, brows knitting. She looked as if the question surprised her, like she had not realized she had been doing it. “Huh?” she whispered, then caught on quickly. “Yeah.” She nodded, agreeing absentmindedly, though her tone lacked conviction.

Jorwyn pretended it was nothing, hiding her suspicion behind a casual tone. “Whenever you’re hurt, Ava… do you let the other girls treat you, or do you do it yourself?”

Avalora tilted her head at the oddly specific question, but answered anyway. “Depends. But it doesn’t happen often,” she said quietly. “Most of the time I’m just stuck in the tent while they move around.”

The two slipped into their small bubble of conversation while the rest of the table spiraled into another round of chaos.

“Wait, wait, wait—so we’re all twenty-four?” Maerith asked after someone had brought up birthdays and ages.

“Yeah, except Eon,” Mar chimed in with a sly grin. “Turned twenty-five last week.”

“Twenty-four… now that’s a lie, ” Garnet said before anyone could argue further. She leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Jorwyn’s probably nine hundred years old. Ilang beses na muntik mamatay ’yang gagong ’yan, pero kita niyo—buo pa rin, kumakain pa ng fried chicken.”

The cafeteria roared with laughter. Jorwyn, the target of the teasing, raised her hands like she was surrendering, chuckling nervously. “Ang fresh ko naman para sa nine-hundred years old, oh?”

“This woman is the most reckless person I know,” Norelle declared, slinging an arm across Jorwyn’s shoulders.

“Lalo na recently,” Garnet piped up, rolling her eyes. “Lakas loob pa sumalo ng injury ng iba!”

“Ever since we got SCAR,” Marlowe added, “mas hindi na ’yan natatakot. Like, her trust with these ladies is extreme. Even if a building is impossible to escape, tatakbo pa rin siya kasi she knows Ava’s gonna save her reckless ass.”

The cafeteria did not notice it, but at the far end of the table, two people went still. Avalora’s head snapped up at Marlowe’s words. Jorwyn froze mid-bite. Both of them stared with eyes wide, caught like deer in headlights.

For a split second, it was like the whole world paused. Then Avalora, quicker to recover, smirked faintly and shot back, “Can we just tie her up next time sa truck niyo? Para hindi na siya magkaroon ng injury.”

Jorwyn gaped at her, mock-betrayed. “What?! Sige, I’ll have my wounds tended by Maerith next time!”

“Masakit karayom ni Maerith,” Selene commented through a mouthful of rice.

“Hey!” Maerith yelped, slamming her chopsticks on the table as everyone burst out laughing again. “Weren’t you just slandering Solana the other time, tapos ako na ngayon?!”

Selene just shrugged, chewing contentedly.

The chaos rolled on, loud enough to drown out the hum of the cafeteria lights, but beneath the laughter and noise, Jorwyn kept stealing glances at Avalora. And Avalora, though she kept her expression composed, was not entirely able to hide the fact that she had been shaken by the comment too.

The day dragged, and so it was their last day before the four-day break. While the others were already planning where to drink, where to eat, and where to laugh the exhaustion off, Avalora only wanted the quiet of home. She excused herself with a polite smile, insisting she needed rest.

To her surprise, Jorwyn backed her up, even offered to drive her. Solana had been the one initially assigned to drop off at Avalora's home, as they lived in the same condo building, but the firefighter’s casual 'I’ll take her' left no room for protest.

Now, seated in Jorwyn’s Ranger, Avalora buckled her seatbelt and glanced uneasily at her companion. “Won't those idiots be suspicious?” she asked.

“Of what?” Jorwyn’s brows drew together, her voice so innocently curious that Avalora almost relaxed because Jorwyn’s suspiciousness right now meant something entirely different as memories of that child healed earlier still burned in her thoughts. But that was not a truth she was ready to drag out just yet.

“Kasi, we’re alone together instead of coming with them..?” Avalora muttered.

That made Jorwyn laugh, the sound deep, rich, teasing. “Ah, so that’s what you’re worried about. Don’t worry, Ava, they’ll just tease us naman if ever. You know how those girls are—lalo na si Garn at si Sol.”

She turned the key, the engine growling awake. “Sige, type mo na lang yung address mo sa nav screen. Para hindi na kita tanongin every corner.”

Avalora did as told, fingers trembling slightly on the touchscreen. She told herself it was just the fatigue.

Then Jorwyn’s voice cut in, too casual, too playful. “You know, I discovered something interesting about you, Ava.”

Avalora stiffened. The seatbelt seemed to tighten against her chest. “W-what are you talking about?” She tried to maintain composure, her voice light, but her ears caught the stutter. Inside, she was praying and pleading that Jorwyn would not say that . 

Not here. Not now.

But Jorwyn only tilted her head, feigning thought. “You came from a family of medical practitioners pala?”

The relief was so sharp that Avalora almost sagged in her seat. She exhaled hard, the breath rattling out like a secret. It is just a trivia—just family talk.

“Yeah,” she said, forcing a little laugh. “My dad’s a surgeon, my mom’s a dentist. My brother was a vet… pero we lost him.” Her voice softened, fading, her gaze dropping to her lap.

Jorwyn cursed under her breath, instantly regretful. “Shit—sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine, Jorwyn,” Avalora smiled, though it was tinged with old sorrow. “It was my fault, anyway. I couldn’t save him.”

Her mind carried her away before she could stop it—back to that beach, the waves too fierce, her brother too stubborn. She had been fourteen, her power raw, terrifying, something she still did not understand.

She remembered her first time using it. A scraped knee when she was nine, her playmate crying in pain. Her touch had sealed the skin instantly, leaving no trace of blood. But the agony had slammed into Avalora’s own body instead, leaving her gasping while her friend stared at her unmarked knee, confused. Avalora had convinced her that she imagined it. No bruise meant no proof, and because of that, they never played again.

Later, her brother’s broken nose, and he had begged her not to let their parents know. She loved him too much to refuse. A touch, a pulse of power, the break gone in a blink. As if her gift carried its smoke screen, he never questioned it, never wondered why the pain vanished. Even his classmate’s denial became believable.

However, the drowning was different. It was terrifying for her. The sight of her brother thrashing under the waves, salt and foam stealing his breath. Avalora had frozen because she knew, deep down, that if she took his pain—if she took his near death—then it would be hers instead. She was a child, and she was afraid.

She had not saved him, and that failure branded her.

Since then, she had vowed—never again. Never again would she let someone suffer when she had the power to stop it, no matter the cost to herself.

Avalora blinked, pulled back to the present by the hum of the Ranger and Jorwyn’s steady hands on the wheel.

“Tragedy changes us,” Jorwyn said softly, eyes on the road. “But it should never define us.”

Avalora turned to the window, hiding the storm behind her eyes. If only Jorwyn knew the weight of those words. If only she knew the truth that Avalora was dying to protect and the one Jorwyn had already uncovered.

Jorwyn kept her eyes on the road, but her mind was anywhere except the glowing lanes ahead. Avalora’s words had landed like stones in her chest— I couldn’t save him.

Jorwyn tightened her grip on the wheel. She had heard grief before, seen people break in the middle of rubble and flames, but there was something different in Avalora’s tone. Something layered, like she was confessing more than what the words themselves carried.

A surgeon father, a dentist mother, and a brother who used to treat animals. Healing ran in her blood. But Avalora’s skills were not the kind you learned in med school or a family clinic.

Her memory flashed back to the earthquake site. To the boy with the crushed leg who had somehow, impossibly, stood minutes later with nothing more than a dazed look. To Avalora’s hands, hovering too long, pressing too firmly, as though willing something unseen to transfer.

And then there was herself—how many times had Avalora’s touch left her pain fading faster than it should? Bruises dulling, cuts sealing, exhaustion ebbing away like water soaking into sand. 

Too many times. 

Coincidences piled until they stopped being coincidences at all.

Jorwyn’s jaw clenched. She had wanted to confront her earlier, when she teased about having discovered something interesting. The way Avalora stiffened, like a startled deer, confirmed it right then and there. 

But no. Not yet. 

Pushing her now would make Avalora retreat deeper into her shell.

Instead, Jorwyn let her laughter carry the conversation back into safer waters, focusing on family and careers, but the fire inside her did not cool.

Because she knew.

Because it all made sense now.

Jorwyn stole a glance at her, the nurse’s profile framed by passing city lights, her expression calm but her eyes far away. She looked breakable, and yet she was the one who held everyone else together.

The steering wheel creaked faintly under Jorwyn’s tightening hands. 

A healer. That was the word her mind kept circling back to. 

A secret gift Avalora was desperate to bury, even while using it to save lives.

The Ranger slowed to a stop in front of Avalora’s condo building. The lobby lights spilled golden warmth onto the pavement, a stark contrast to the silence that had filled the car on the last stretch of their drive.

“Thanks for the ride, Jor,” Avalora said softly, unbuckling her seatbelt. She sounded almost hesitant, as if speaking too loudly might shatter something fragile between them.

Jorwyn gave her a slight nod. “Anytime.” Her voice was steady, casual even, but inside she was still replaying every word Avalora had said about her family, every too-fast recovery she had witnessed.

Avalora reached for the door handle but paused. For a heartbeat, she simply sat there, looking at her hands resting in her lap. “Alam mo… You didn’t have to back me up earlier. With the others.”

Jorwyn raised an eyebrow. “What, about wanting to go home instead of hanging out? Please. I wasn’t about to let Sol or Garn tease you into doing something you didn’t want.”

That earned her the tiniest laugh from Avalora. It was a tired sound, but genuine. “Still. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.” Jorwyn shifted slightly, resting an arm on the wheel. “You’ve carried enough weight these past days. A little peace’s the least you deserve.”

Avalora’s smile lingered a moment longer before she finally opened the door. The night air slipped in, cool against Jorwyn’s skin.

“Goodnight, Jor,” Avalora said, stepping out.

“Night, Ava.”

She closed the door gently, not with the careless slam of someone rushing to leave. Jorwyn watched her walk toward the entrance, her figure outlined under the streetlamps. Something in the set of her shoulders told Jorwyn that Avalora was still carrying more than she let on—not just grief, not just exhaustion, but the weight of a secret that had shaped her whole life.

As Avalora disappeared into the building, Jorwyn leaned back against her seat and exhaled.

She told herself it was just instinct, the firefighter in her refusing to ignore what she knew to be true. But deep down, she also knew it was something else—the quiet pull Avalora had on her, the way she made Jorwyn want to notice.

Slowly, Jorwyn turned the key, the engine rumbling back to life. 

Avalora closed the door behind her with a soft click, leaning against it for a moment before exhaling a long, shaky breath. The stillness of her condo wrapped around her, so different from the chaos of the mission tents, the laughter, the bickering, the weight of duty.

She slipped off her shoes, padded toward her bedroom, and sank onto the mattress with an exhaustion that was not only physical. Her body ached, yes, but what weighed heavier was the way Jorwyn’s words echoed in her mind.

I discovered something interesting about you, Ava.

Avalora pressed her palms to her face, groaning quietly into the empty room. She had flinched. She knew Jorwyn had noticed.

Curling onto her side, she stared at the shadows stretching across her ceiling. Images replayed against the dark canvas—Jorwyn with a gashed arm on the second day of the mission, gritting her teeth but refusing to slow down. The time a beam collapsed too close, and Avalora had reached her before anyone else, hands pressed against bruises that had faded faster than they should. The moment on the last day, when Jorwyn should have been down for hours, maybe days, and yet Avalora had not been able to stop herself—her hand had moved, her power had flowed, and the injury had vanished.

And Jorwyn had seen. She was sure of it.

But then came the other truth, the one she could not ignore, that she could never stand by and watch Jorwyn suffer. Even if every time she touched her, healed her, Jorwyn’s suspicion grew sharper, even if it meant exposing herself piece by piece.

“What is it about you and why are you so damn reckless?” she whispered into the dark.

Her chest ached with the weight of it. Torn between the need to hide and the need to heal, Avalora closed her eyes, wishing for once that she could be ordinary—that her hands were just hands, that her choices did not feel like walking a tightrope between saving lives and destroying her own.

But she knew herself too well. The next time Jorwyn bled, the next time her body broke, Avalora’s hands would move again. She would heal her, no matter the risk.

And Jorwyn would see.

That was what terrified her most.

Chapter Text

It was a perfectly ordinary Tuesday.

VARL had been ordered back to Blue Sentinel Academy of Fire and Disaster Response, though no one ever called it that. To everyone in the city, and especially among the ranks of first responders, it was simply BlueSent. Today, the entire unit sat through another round of classes, preparing to be promoted from Fire Officers to the more prestigious rank of Blaze Officers.

The air in the classroom was stuffy, thick with the smell of chalk dust and sweat. They had just finished their lesson on Structural Collapse Awareness, and the silence of concentration had unraveled into the restless chatter of a much-needed break.

“Hey, have you guys seen this?” one of the firefighters said, lifting his phone. His voice carried enough curiosity to tug half the room’s attention. “They’re saying on social media there’s some surge of respiratory cases in the capital.”

The murmuring spread quickly, little sparks of worry catching across the classroom. Heads leaned in, conversations broke into speculation. But when their instructor walked in and overheard, she cut the ripple flat with a firm hand.

“If something of that magnitude were real, we would be the first to know,” she said, her tone brisk, dismissing the rumor with authority. “Stay focused on your training. Don’t feed yourselves panic.”

The room quieted, though unease lingered beneath the surface, like smoke from an unseen fire.

Across town, SCAR was attending a blood donation program hosted by Amihan Crest Medical Center. The smell of antiseptic clung to the air, sharp and clinical. Avalora and Solana sat side by side, carefully drawing blood from two donors. Their practiced hands moved with steady precision, though their ears caught on a nearby conversation.

One of their fellow nurses, speaking in a low, almost conspiratorial tone, mentioned the same thing—the whispers of a viral outbreak in the capital, the possibility of a quarantine.

Solana only rolled her eyes. But Avalora’s hand hesitated, just slightly, as she adjusted the tubing. Her gaze flicked toward the speaker, lips pressed together. A quarantine? A virus? Something about it made her chest tighten.

The day had started like any other, but it ended in a way none of them expected.

Both VARL and SCAR received the same sudden notification: all first-line responders must return to their stations immediately.

The world shifted in an hour. Radios and televisions, once filled with game shows, dramas, and music, were abruptly hijacked by urgent news reports. Anchors spoke over flashing banners: Unknown disease spreading—unconfirmed numbers—health authorities monitoring closely.

The regular flow of daily life cracked, replaced by the rising hum of chaos.

Then came the declaration: the National Health Authority was issuing a code alert. Every citizen was ordered to go home. The country was locking down.

Everyone, except the first responders.

VARL and SCAR were told to retrieve only their essentials from home. They would not be returning until the crisis had passed. Masks, gloves, and face shields were distributed at once. Even with the heat pressing down like a suffocating blanket, protocol was protocol.

Inside the station, doors bolted shut, the mood was sour and restless.

“Why won’t they just send us home?” Garnet muttered, tossing her mask onto the table with a scowl. “We’re stuck here, away from our families, and for what?”

“Ano ba ‘yan, Garn,” Solana said lazily, reclining on the couch with her feet on the table. “You signed up for this. You should’ve expected it.”

“It’s a health crisis. You’re the nurses, hindi naman kami. Why are we even included?” Garnet shot back, her frustration bubbling over.

“Protocol,” Jorwyn cut in firmly. She gave Garnet’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “We don’t get to choose Garn.”

Selene smirked. “Don’t worry, Jorwyn. If this lockdown drags on, you won’t be out there risking your life for a while.”

“Oh, don’t you challenge her,” Maerith added, chuckling. “She’ll probably sneak out and try to fight the virus herself.”

Laughter rippled, the kind that carried both mockery and fondness.

“This girl would probably die of boredom before anything else kills her,” Marlowe quipped.

“Yung akala mo may malakas na guardian angel siya,” Norelle chimed in, cupping Jorwyn’s cheeks with exaggerated affection, “pero sa totoo lang naliligaw lang yung grim reaper.”

Jorwyn wriggled free and smirked. “Or maybe I signed up as a rescuer because every life I save adds another to mine.”

“No way,” Solana muttered, but Garnet burst into laughter anyway.

Silence came, then boots tapped, pens clicked, nerves itched. 

Nobody liked being grounded.

“Lockdown, huh?” Norelle muttered again, tossing a protein bar across the table to Garnet. “Stuck here with the same faces for days.”

“Better than being stuck sick,” Solana shot back, tearing open her own bar. Her eyes flicked to Jorwyn, lounging with her arms folded, cool as stone. “Do you even get sick, Jorwynina? You’ve been on every shift, every storm, every fire—never seen you down with a cold, kahit sipon.”

That earned a few chuckles around the room. Marlowe snorted, “Yeah, parang may immunity pass siya.”

Jorwyn shrugged, her smirk a shade too casual. “Guess I’m just lucky.”

Avalora sat quieter than the rest, their voices a blur in the background. Her fingers twisted together in her lap. Fear gnawed at her, not of being locked down, not even of the virus itself, but of what it meant for her.

She had never healed anyone of a sickness before. Wounds, burns, broken bones—that was her curse and gift. But a viral infection? She did not know what would happen if she tried. How much would it drain her? Would it kill her?

Her thoughts were cut short by the sound of screeching wheels outside. An ambulance had pulled in, its sirens fading.

Without thinking, everyone rushed to the gate. Their orders to remain inside were forgotten the second they saw the gurney being wheeled out.

It was one of their own. A rescuer, doubled over, gasping for air.

The group froze as fear rooted them to the spot. No one dared get close—no one, except Avalora.

She ran forward before reason could stop her, catching the man’s trembling body as he stumbled. Her hands found his shoulders, his chest—his lungs working in desperate, uneven bursts.

Don’t heal him fully. The thought flashed, panicked. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

She reached instead for the smallest thread of her power, easing only the crushing weight on his chest. She drew it out of him, felt the air yank itself from her own lungs in exchange. A sharp gasp tore from her throat, dizziness tilting her vision.

But before she could falter, a steady grip caught her. 

Jorwyn.

The others stayed back, their fear still a wall between them and the patient. None of them noticed Avalora’s trembling—none, except Jorwyn—whose eyes lingered, sharp with concern, far too perceptive.

Moments later, after further checks, the rescuer was cleared. No infection. Just an exhaustion scare, but it was enough for the higher-ups to tighten restrictions.

The gates of the station slammed shut, locks sliding into place. Keys were surrendered. Engines silenced. Fire trucks, ambulances, rescue vehicles—all trapped within.

Avalora swallowed, her lungs still aching faintly. Around her, frustration simmered, jokes returned in half-hearted bursts, and fear hummed in the air like static.

But what weighed heaviest was the way Jorwyn was still looking at her. 

Watching. 

Noticing.

And Avalora knew, deep down, that her secret had just grown harder to hide.

The metallic clank of the heavy locks echoed through the courtyard, finalizing their confinement inside the station. The sound carried a sharpness that sent unease rippling through the gathered responders. It was not just the physical reality of being locked in, but also the symbolic weight of it. They were no longer rescuers rushing out into danger; they were guardians trapped behind gates, staring into the unknown.

Garnet, arms crossed tightly over her chest, muttered the moment the locks clicked shut.

“Ang galing talaga. Now we’re prisoners. I can’t even see my own family—how is this supposed to help anyone?” Her voice, usually steady in fire and smoke, trembled now with frustration.

Marlowe leaned against the wall, running both hands over her face. “Exactly. Why drag us back here if they’re not letting us do anything? We could’ve been at home, at least making sure our families are safe. Instead, nandito lang tayo… staring at the same walls. With each other.” Her tone was sharp, but the slump of her shoulders betrayed her exhaustion more than anger.

Norelle, ever the calm center of the storm, tried to soften the rising tempers. She lifted her hands, urging the group to steady themselves. “Hey—hey, listen. This isn’t easy for any of us. But panicking about being locked in won’t help. The protocols are here for a reason.”

“Ang dali lang sabihin para sayo, Norelle,” Garnet shot back, her jaw tight. “You don’t have to worry about your mom being sick at home.”

Norelle’s composure faltered for just a second, her eyes flickering with the truth Garnet unknowingly struck and how she resorted to calling her by her first name all of a sudden. She swallowed before answering, more quietly now. “I do. And that’s exactly why I’m trying to keep it together.”

The silence that followed was heavier than the locked gate.

Meanwhile, across the station, the medical teams had already shifted into work mode. Avalora, Solana, Selene, and Maerith, and the others gathered inside the supplies room, their voices hushed but brisk as they counted masks, gloves, sanitizers, and IV fluids. Trauma bags were opened and refilled with meticulous care, and every bandage and vial was organized as if order could combat the chaos waiting outside.

“We’re seventy-two in here,” Solana reminded, tying her hair tighter as though bracing herself. “ Fire, rescue, medics… plus superiors. That’s a lot of bodies. If anyone slips up with hygiene, it’ll spread like wildfire.”

“May plano na para diyan, Sol,” Maerith said, tapping a clipboard. “Each unit will be responsible for its quarters. Shared areas will have rotations. And anyone showing symptoms goes into isolation—walang kokontra.”

That isolation was already in use. The rescuer brought in earlier, along with his entire unit, had been escorted into a designated quarantine room. The atmosphere around that hallway was tense, silence thickened by the fear of contagion. 

Despite Maerith’s stern disapproval, Avalora had gone inside several times, refusing to leave the patients alone.

When Jorwyn spotted her through the small window in the door, crouched beside the quarantined nurse with a hand resting gently against his arm, something in her tightened. She entered quietly, leaning against the wall with arms crossed.

“Ava, halika na,” Jorwyn said after a beat. “That’s the second time today you’ve checked them. You’re wearing yourself thin.”

Avalora did not even look up, her gaze fixed on the patient’s breathing. “They need monitoring. And if something changes suddenly, I need to see it firsthand.”

“They’ve got charts, they’ve got vitals. You’ve got Sol, Sel, and Maerith backing you up.” Jorwyn stepped closer, her voice firmer now. “What you don’t have is a second Ava if you collapse. You’re no good to them if you burn yourself out.”

Finally, Avalora glanced up. Her eyes flashed with a quiet frustration, but underneath it was fear. “Jor, pwede ba get out. I can handle this.”

Jorwyn hesitated, her instinct to argue colliding with the certainty that Avalora would only dig her heels in deeper if pushed. So she stayed silent. Instead of leaving, she simply leaned back against the wall, folding her arms and fixing Avalora with that steady, unyielding gaze of hers.

She would keep watch over Avalora this time, not the quarantined nurse.

Avalora dipped her head, pretending to check the rescuer’s pulse for the third time that hour. Her hand lingered longer than necessary, her palm pressed against his skin as though she were simply steadying herself.

In truth, she let the faintest thread of warmth flow out of her, coaxing the tightness in his chest to loosen, his breath to deepen.

The effect was subtle, just enough to ease him without drawing suspicion. But even that tiny act left her chest tightening, like the air she gave him was stolen from her own lungs. She pulled back quickly, masking the wobble in her stance by scribbling a note onto his chart.

Jorwyn noticed. 

Of course she did.

Her eyes narrowed, not in anger but in that sharp, calculating way she always got when something did not add up. She stepped closer, lowering her voice so that only Avalora could hear.

“Namumutla ka na Avalora.”

“I’m fine,” Avalora answered too quickly.

Jorwyn tilted her head, studying her with a patience that Avalora found both infuriating and frightening. “You know… for someone so worried about everyone else burning out, you don’t take your own advice.”

Avalora forced a small smile, tugging the blanket higher over the patient’s chest. “It’s part of the job.”

“No.” Jorwyn’s voice softened, but her gaze sharpened. “That’s you going too far. And I told you, if I see you doing that—I’m going to stop you.”

Avalora stiffened, her hand faltering over the chart. Did Jorwyn mean the way she had been hovering, or did she see more?

Before she could form a reply, Solana entered the quarantine room with fresh gloves and a disinfectant sprayer. “Rotation time. Avalora Arceta, you’ve been here too long. Go take a break before Maerith bites your head off.”

Avalora gave a short nod and backed away, but Jorwyn fell into step beside her, silent. Only when they were out in the hallway did she murmur, low enough for Avalora alone:

“I don’t know what you’re doing exactly. But whatever it is, it’s costing you, and I’m not letting you keep doing that.”

Avalora froze for a moment, heart hammering, but she forced herself to walk forward, pretending she had not heard.

Jorwyn did not push. She simply followed, as though her presence alone was enough to remind Avalora that she was not escaping her watchful eyes anytime soon.

As night fell, the station settled into an uneasy rhythm. The tension that had gripped them all day loosened only slightly, replaced by the quiet hum of survival tasks.

Assignments had been divided: sanitation crews ensuring every corner, doorknob, and even skin was scrubbed clean; guards posted at the exits to prevent anyone desperate from slipping out; the kitchen team calculating menus like generals mapping a battle, stretching sacks of rice and canned goods into something resembling meals.

Everyone bore a role, but one rule bound them all: no one should ever hide their symptoms.

In the shared office where VARL and SCAR had made their quarters, six folding beds lined the walls. The plan was simple: six people would sleep while two stayed on watch, and then they would rotate.

No one said it aloud, but they all suspected this lockdown would last longer than anyone wanted to admit—weeks, maybe months.

It was supposed to be Maerith and Norelle’s shift that night, leaders shouldering the first watch. But Avalora was too restless to stay in bed, lying stiff on the thin mattress as if the ceiling itself pressed down on her. When she finally got up, the movement was enough to stir Jorwyn, who seized the opportunity and volunteered for the rotation. Officially, it was to cover for Norelle, but the truth was written all over the firewoman’s face that she simply wanted to stay where Avalora was.

They sat together on the worn couch by the office door, keeping half an eye on the muted television flashing occasional updates, the other half on the radios set neatly on the table. Their comrades slept heavily behind them, exhaustion finally dragging them under.

Unlike the others who had already changed into sweatpants and shirts, Avalora and Jorwyn still wore their uniforms: a nurse in scrubs with a jacket thrown over her shoulders, and a rescuer in her orange turnout pants and boots, as if neither could afford the luxury of lowering their guard.

“You should’ve slept, you look tired,” Avalora murmured, tilting her head toward Jorwyn. Her voice carried that professional firmness she always used with patients, though it was softened by fatigue.

Jorwyn smirked. “Ikaw ang mukhang pagod, Ava.” And it was true—Jorwyn, despite it being two in the morning, looked infuriatingly fresh, like someone who had taken a nap she swore she had not. Avalora, by contrast, looked like she could collapse any second.

“Pumipikit ka na nga eh,” Jorwyn added, chuckling when she caught Avalora’s eyes fluttering shut mid-blink.

Avalora turned to deny it, but the words broke into a yawn that forced a tear down her cheek. She tried again, “Heh, hindi nga kasi ak—” only for another yawn to cut her off.

Jorwyn’s laughter spilled out, soft so as not to wake the others. Avalora glared at her, cheeks warming despite the cool air.

“Pwede ka naman na kasi matulog. I’ll tap you kapag kailangan,” Jorwyn offered gently. She leaned back into the couch, folding her arms. “Sanay na ako sa di pagtulog. You don’t have to worry about leaving me awake alone.”

Avalora narrowed her eyes. “Bahala ka. Pustahan mauuna ka pa sa’kin.”

Jorwyn’s grin widened instantly. “Sige nga. Patagalang gising tayo. May dare yung mananalo?” Her tone was teasing, but there was a spark of mischief in her eyes, like she already smelled victory.

Avalora smirked back, though she was already rubbing at her temples to stay alert. “Sige ba. Tell me a secret you’ve never told anyone, pag nanalo ako.”

“Deal.” Jorwyn leaned closer, her voice low and challenging. “And if I win, you’ll do the same?”

For a moment, Avalora’s face betrayed her as her lips parted, eyes flicking away, panic flashing across her tired expression. She realized too late what a mistake that dare was. If Jorwyn pressed, if she asked the wrong question, her secret would shatter right there.

“Ibang dare na lang pala!” Avalora blurted, waving a hand quickly.

Jorwyn raised a brow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Sus. May tinatago ka noh?”

“Wala ah!” Avalora shot back too fast, sitting up straighter, as if that might make her lie more convincingly. “Sige, let’s proceed with that dare!”

But her bravado did not last half a minute. Her eyelids, already heavy, betrayed her one final time. Jorwyn asked a question, but the answer never came, only silence. Avalora’s chin dipped, her breaths evening out as she succumbed to exhaustion.

Jorwyn turned, ready to tease her again, but the sight of Avalora sleeping so soundly tugged at her instead. She could have nudged her awake, spared her the consequences of their bet. But seeing the exhaustion etched on her face, remembering how hard she had pushed herself earlier, tending to their sick and injured, Jorwyn could not do it.

Instead, she shifted carefully, guiding Avalora’s head to rest on her shoulder. With her free hand, she tugged the spare blanket over the nurse’s lap. Avalora stirred once, but only to burrow closer, seeking warmth.

Jorwyn sat still, a small smile tugging at her lips. She felt strangely content, as if carrying Avalora’s weight against her was a responsibility she did not mind.

Mischief flickered in her eyes again, and she quietly slipped her phone from her pocket. With a stifled laugh, she snapped a selfie with her tongue out, eyes wide in mock triumph while Avalora dozed peacefully against her.

After tucking the phone away, her smile faded into something more thoughtful. She glanced at the sleeping beds around them, then back at Avalora.

The quiet was heavy, filled with the unspoken fears of what tomorrow’s news might bring.

Letting out a deep sigh, Jorwyn whispered, more to herself than anyone else, “Whatever happens to all of us tomorrow… sana kayanin natin.”

And with that, she settled in, letting the weight of the nurse on her shoulder keep her awake through the long night ahead.

The gray light of dawn seeped through the station’s thin curtains, painting the office in a muted glow. The air smelled faintly of instant coffee and disinfectant like someone from sanitation had already started their morning routine.

Avalora stirred first, blinking against the dull ache in her neck. Her head felt heavier than it should, pressed against something warm and solid. It was not until she shifted and felt the rise and fall of steady breaths beneath her ear that realization struck.

Her eyes snapped open. Jorwyn’s shoulder. Jorwyn’s arm. Jorwyn’s faint citrus-and-smoke scent was clinging to her jacket.

Avalora shot upright instantly, nearly knocking her forehead against Jorwyn’s chin.

“Wh—! Bakit di mo ako ginising?!” she hissed, her voice a mix of outrage and embarrassment.

Jorwyn stretched lazily, clearly already awake, her lips curling into the most infuriating grin. “Good morning din sayo, Ava.”

Avalora groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Hindi ako nakatulog, ah! Nakaidlip lang!” she said quickly, grasping at excuses.

“Sure,” Jorwyn teased, leaning forward on her elbows. “Kaso… rules are rules.”

Avalora froze. “Anong rules?”

“Our bet.” Jorwyn’s grin widened. “You lost. I won. So…” She drew out the words, enjoying Avalora’s rising panic. “A secret you’ve never told anyone.”

Avalora’s heart skipped. She could not give that away—not yet. Not to anyone, especially not to Jorwyn. Scrambling, she forced a laugh. “Pfft, hindi counted. Hindi pa naman tapos yung challenge, e! Bigla ka lang nanloko kasi nagpahinga lang ako saglit.”

Jorwyn leaned closer, squinting at her like she could read the truth straight off her face. “Aba, defensive.”

“Hindi ah!” Avalora shot back too fast, which only made Jorwyn laugh harder.

Their bickering drew a groan from one of the folding beds. Maerith rolled over, glaring half-asleep at them. “Ang ingay niyo. 6 a.m. pa lang.”

Both women hushed instantly, though Avalora’s cheeks still burned. She tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders, trying to hide her expression. Jorwyn, however, looked thoroughly entertained.

As Avalora busied herself with pretending to straighten the couch cushions, Jorwyn pulled out her phone, thumb hovering over the gallery. She smirked. “By the way… may proof ako.”

Avalora froze mid-movement. “Proof?”

Jorwyn turned the screen toward her, and it was a selfie from a few hours ago. Avalora was asleep, head on Jorwyn’s shoulder, while Jorwyn pulled a triumphant face with her tongue sticking out.

“DELETE THAT!” Avalora hissed, lunging for the phone.

Jorwyn held it out of reach, laughing softly. “Hmm… ayoko. Souvenir ko ‘to.”

Avalora glared, crossing her arms. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you,” Jorwyn countered, tucking her phone safely into her pocket, “are terrible at staying awake.”

Despite herself, Avalora felt her lips twitch. She quickly bit back the smile, looking away. She could not let Jorwyn see how much she secretly liked the warmth of last night, or how the thought of Jorwyn keeping that photo did not entirely feel like a loss.

By midday, the station hummed with activity. The kitchen crew clattered pans as they figured out how to stretch canned goods into something edible, sanitation was scrubbing down hallways with diluted bleach, and the rescue teams were practicing equipment checks just to stay busy.

Avalora sat at a long table with Norelle and Garnet, scribbling down an inventory of their supplies. She was already tense, her mind half-drifting back to last night’s bet and that humiliating selfie.

Jorwyn strolled in, carrying two mugs of instant coffee. She placed one in front of Avalora without asking.

“For the nurse na laging puyat,” she announced cheerfully.

Avalora did not look up, muttering, “Salamat.”

But Jorwyn did not walk away. She leaned against the table, arms crossed, watching her with a mischievous smile. “So… about our little game kagabi.”

Avalora’s pen froze mid-word. “What game?” she asked too quickly.

Norelle looked up, curious. “Ano ‘yon?”

“Wala!” Avalora cut in sharply.

But Jorwyn just grinned wider, turning toward Norelle. “We had a bet. Loser reveals a secret.” She gave Avalora a sidelong glance, eyes glinting. “Guess sino talo?”

Avalora felt heat crawl up her neck. “Hindi ako natalo! She cheated!”

Garnet perked up immediately. “Uy, chismis. Anong secret?”

Avalora slammed her notebook shut. “Wala ngang secret! Stop it!”

Jorwyn chuckled, sipping her coffee slowly, savoring Avalora’s flustered state. “If it’s nothing, then bakit defensive?”

Avalora glared daggers at her, heart pounding so hard she worried the others could hear it. “Jor, if you don’t shut up, I’ll make you my patient next.”

“Oooh, threat,” Garnet teased, while Norelle raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

Jorwyn, unfazed, leaned closer just enough for only Avalora to hear. Her voice softened, stripped of its playful tone.

“I can tell you’re holding something back, Ava. One day… I hope you’ll feel safe enough to tell me.”

Avalora stiffened, her chest tightening, but before she could answer, Jorwyn straightened and walked off casually like nothing happened—leaving her with two curious teammates and a heart that refused to calm down.

It had been a week since the lockdown was declared. Inside the station, time no longer felt the same as it stretched, dragged, and looped until the days blurred together. Yet somehow, the seventy-plus people locked in the building had managed to adapt.

A routine had been carved out of the monotony. The firefighters spent their mornings on drills, the rescuers on strength training, while the paramedics sharpened their protocols and restocked supplies as if a call might come in any minute. To keep spirits from fraying, team leaders invented activities: workshops, skill-shares, even impromptu contests to keep everyone sharp.

The medical team, under the insistence of their supervisors, attended virtual seminars on the new virus. The findings unsettled them all—the pathogen could spread simply by breathing the same air as the infected. Still, as long as no one broke protocol and there was no direct contact, they told themselves they were safe.

But safety ended the moment they needed to leave the station.

A small group of rescuers had been dispatched to retrieve provisions from the central command office. These were not simple rations, as it was a month’s worth of food and sanitation supplies for the whole branch. The scale of the preparation made everyone uneasy. If headquarters was handing out so much at once, it meant one thing: the lockdown was expected to last much, much longer.

The team was supposed to be gone for thirty minutes; however, they returned after two hours.

The cafeteria grew tense as the group set down crates and duffel bags, looking winded but satisfied.

“Shouldn’t you have arrived earlier?” one of the fire captains asked coolly, standing with his arms crossed.

“H-huh?” A younger rescuer blinked, caught off guard.

“We estimated your time of arrival,” another voice chimed in—a lead nurse. “You should’ve been here an hour and a half ago.”

The unit’s captain gave a low chuckle, waving his hand dismissively. “Relax lang. There was a line at the command. Plenty of branches to supply. We had to wait our turn, that’s all.”

“Two hours’ worth of waiting?” Garnet muttered under her breath.

The man raised his voice, more defensive now. “We didn’t mingle with anyone. Supplies were handed out in bulk. We came out one by one to load them up. No contact, no risk.”

Tension began to ease. People wanted to believe him, and they wanted the explanation to be accurate. Then came the mistake.

A lead nurse passed behind one of the younger rescuers and, with a casual glance, saw the message glowing on his phone screen. She froze, then read it aloud before her brain had time to catch up.

“Namiss kita, mahal. Buti na lang nakita na ulit kita…”

The room fell silent.

It took only seconds for the weight of the words to sink in. The rescuers had taken a detour—had gone home, broken quarantine, risked everything.

“What?” Marlowe shot to her feet. “You—are you serious? You went home?”

“We risked our lives out there,” the captain snapped, Joseph, his composure crumbling. “Don’t we deserve to see our families, kahit na sandali lang?”

“Deserve?” Norelle’s voice cracked with anger. “You think we don’t want the same thing? We’re all trapped here! But we don’t risk everyone’s lives just to hold someone’s hand for a few minutes!”

The cafeteria erupted. Chairs scraped and voices overlapped. The dispatched team insisted they had taken precautions, but no one wanted to hear it. By unanimous demand, the unit was escorted to quarantine.

Jorwyn, fuming, shoved back her chair. “I can’t believe Joseph went along with that. He should’ve known better!”

“Real,” Marlowe agreed, slamming his palm on the table. “I thought he had more sense.”

“I should knock his head off,” Jorwyn muttered, already moving toward the door.

Garnet caught her by the arm. “Hoy! Tanga! If they’re infected and you go barging in, isa ka pang dadalhin namin sa quarantine!”

Jorwyn clenched her jaw, but she did not fight her off. Still, her knuckles whitened as she gripped the table’s edge.

The day ended with a chill that sank into everyone’s bones.

Without warning, the station’s locks clamped shut with metallic finality: every door, every office sealed with an automatic click that reverberated through the halls. Then the commander’s voice flooded the speakers.

“Attention. We have two confirmed cases of the Pumorift Virus—both traced to MULC.”

Avalora stiffened, her stomach dropping.

“Effective immediately,” the voice continued, “all offices are sealed to prevent further exposure. No one is to leave their designated quarters. We are requesting four volunteer nurses and two rescue personnel to assist MULC. Volunteers will be stationed beside their unit and will not return to their original teams. To volunteer, dial the main office line and state your name.”

The announcement ended. The silence that followed was heavier than shouting.

No one wanted to move.

But Avalora’s hand was already on the phone. Before the commander had finished speaking, she was dialing, voice steady as she said her name.

“Avalora—stop!” Norelle hissed, reaching for her arm.

Avalora pulled back. Her eyes were fierce. “I’m not sitting here while people die.”

The others argued, begged, and cursed. But Avalora’s mind was unshakable. She had already made her decision.

Then Jorwyn stepped forward, snatching the phone from Avalora’s grasp. “Add me to the list. VARL Jorwyn Robles.”

Avalora whipped her head toward her. “What are you—”

“I’m not letting you go alone,” Jorwyn cut in, her voice low but resolute.

Avalora stared at her, torn between frustration and relief. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. Jorwyn knew enough never to leave her side.

When morning came, Avalora and Jorwyn were escorted out of their office wing. The rest of VARL-SCAR pressed against the windows of their locked doors, watching in silence as the two walked down the hallway with their bags. No one dared wave as it felt too much like a goodbye.

They were stationed beside MULC, the Medical Unit’s isolation quarters. From here, everything was different—quieter, colder. The air carried the faint sting of disinfectant, the sharp beeping of monitors, and the muffled coughs from behind sealed doors.

Jorwyn had fought fires, pulled bodies from wreckage, and survived disasters most people would not imagine. But this unseen, breathing threat was different. It made her skin prickle.

Avalora, though, did not hesitate. She pulled on her protective gear and slipped into the patients’ ward as if it were a natural step forward. Jorwyn followed, nerves taut, eyes flicking to every surface, every corner.

The patients were worse than she expected. Two of them lay feverish, sweating through their sheets, their breathing shallow. Avalora moved quickly to take vitals, adjusting IV lines, cleaning clammy skin with practiced hands.

Then Jorwyn saw it.

Avalora’s hand lingered just a little too long on a patient’s chest. The rise and fall of their lungs steadied, unnaturally fast. Their coughing eased within seconds. The change was impossible. And yet Avalora kept her head down, as though she had only wiped sweat away.

Jorwyn’s stomach twisted. She’s using it again. She’s burning herself out.

By the end of their first shift, Avalora was pale under her mask. Her hands trembled faintly when she peeled off her gloves.

“Hey,” Jorwyn said sharply, catching her wrist before she could go back for another round. “That’s enough for today.”

Avalora blinked at her, surprised. “There are still—”

“I said enough,” Jorwyn cut in, harsher than she intended. She forced her grip to loosen, but her voice stayed firm. “You’ve been on your feet for hours. You think you’re helping anyone if you collapse in there?”

Avalora hesitated, guilt flickering in her eyes. “…Someone has to do it.”

“Yeah. And you’ve done it. More than enough.” Jorwyn’s throat was dry, her chest tight. She wanted to shout I know what you’re doing, I know you’re not normal, I can see it tearing you apart. But instead she said, “You push yourself like this, you’ll get sick too. Tapos ano?”

Avalora lowered her gaze. The stubborn fire in her dimmed, just a little.

Jorwyn guided her toward the cot in the corner of their makeshift quarters. “Umupo ka at magpahinga. Doctor’s orders.”

Avalora gave a weak laugh. “You’re not a doctor.”

“Ewan ko sayo. Sit.”

She did, and though she looked like she might argue again, her body betrayed her—slumping against the pillow, eyelids heavy.

Jorwyn sat on the opposite cot, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. She watched Avalora’s breathing even out, watched the exhaustion drag her under.

Her jaw clenched. Every fiber of her being wanted to demand answers, to shake Avalora awake and tell her to stop using power she had before it killed her. But instead, she kept the secret locked in her chest.

She would wait, watch out for her, and protect her.

If Avalora would not stop saving everyone else, then Jorwyn would make damn sure someone was there to save her.

The next day, Avalora woke earlier than the others. Jorwyn, who had not slept deeply, noticed her slip away toward the patient wing. She did not make a sound, but Jorwyn rose quietly and followed at a distance.

Inside the ward, Avalora moved quickly from bed to bed. She checked pulses, adjusted blankets—ordinary things at a glance. But then Jorwyn caught it again: Avalora’s palm pressed against a patient’s arm, her eyes closing briefly as if she were gathering herself. Within moments, the man’s ragged breathing eased, his fever-flushed face relaxing.

Jorwyn’s heart clenched. Ano ba naman ‘tong si Ava. She’s already pale from yesterday.

“Avalora.”

The nurse stiffened, nearly dropping her clipboard. “Jor—what are you doing here?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Jorwyn’s voice was low but sharp, arms crossed. “You’re not supposed to be in here alone.”

“I’m just checking on them—”

“You already checked on them.” Jorwyn stepped closer, her eyes locked on Avalora’s tired face. “You can’t keep this up, Ava.”

Avalora frowned, clutching her clipboard like a shield. “I have to. They need someone—”

“They have someone,” Jorwyn snapped, then forced herself to lower her tone. “They have you and Nurse Hamich, and the other nurses. You’re not the only one in this ward.”

Avalora’s lips parted, but no excuse came out.

“You keep acting like you’re the only pair of hands here,” Jorwyn continued, softer now but no less firm. “But you’re not. You don’t have to carry this alone. And if you try—” She exhaled, pressing a hand to the back of her neck. “You’re going to break, Ava, and I’m not going to stand by and watch that happen.”

For a moment, Avalora just stared at her, the stubbornness in her eyes dimming under the weight of Jorwyn’s words.

“…I just want to do everything I can,” she whispered.

“I know.” Jorwyn’s voice gentled. “But doing everything doesn’t mean doing it all by yourself.”

Avalora’s throat bobbed. She looked down, defeated, and finally gave a slight nod.

Jorwyn sighed, tension easing only a little. She touched Avalora’s arm briefly—not long enough to cross a line, just enough to ground her. “Next time, wake someone up. Don’t make me tail you like a shadow, okay?”

That earned her a tiny smile from Avalora, weary but genuine. “Fine. I’ll try.”

Jorwyn allowed herself the most minuscule smirk back. “Good. Because if you collapse in here, I’m carrying you out over my shoulder—and I swear I won’t make it look graceful.”

Avalora let out a soft laugh, shaking her head, but when she turned back to the patients, her movements were slower, more deliberate—as if Jorwyn’s words had finally anchored her.

And Jorwyn, watching from her post, promised herself she would keep saying it, again and again if she had to: Avalora did not have to fight alone, not while she was here.

That night, when the ward quieted and most patients had fallen asleep, Avalora slumped into the chair by the wall. Her hands trembled faintly as she rubbed her temples, though she tried to mask it.

Jorwyn stood nearby, leaning against the metal frame of the door, arms folded tightly. She had been silent for too long, and Avalora finally muttered, “Titig na titig ka naman diyan.”

“Hindi ka kasi nakikinig eh,” Jorwyn shot back immediately.

Avalora sighed. “Jor, I’m fine. Really. You don’t need to hover.”

Her tone was meant to be dismissive, but Jorwyn’s jaw tightened. “You think I want to hover? You think I enjoy watching you push yourself until you can barely stand?”

Avalora froze, caught off guard by her sudden sharpness. “…I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t see it,” Jorwyn pressed on, her voice low and rough. “But I do. You come back pale, shaking, like you’ve poured out more than anyone should be able to give. And it’s not normal, Ava.” She stopped abruptly, swallowing hard, then quickly added, “—it’s not healthy. You can’t keep going like this.”

Avalora’s lips parted, her breath uneven. Jorwyn’s words felt too close, too sharp, like they were slicing into the truth she worked so hard to bury.

“Jorwyn…” she whispered, unsure what else to say.

"You act like it doesn’t matter," Jorwyn said, quieter now, her tone clipped as if trying to keep it even. "Maybe it shouldn’t matter. Maybe you’re right, maybe you can handle it all. But I can’t just stand by and watch you wear yourself down—not when I… not when it gets to me more than it should."

Avalora’s throat tightened. She pulled her gaze away, clutching her knees as if to steady herself. “…You make it sound worse than it is,” she said, though her voice wavered.

“Maybe I do,” Jorwyn muttered, the laugh that followed sharp and humorless. She dragged a hand through her hair. “Better that than keeping quiet and watching you fall apart.”

“…I’ll try,” she whispered.

“That’s all I’m asking,” Jorwyn said, her voice softening. She stepped closer, crouching slightly to catch Avalora’s eyes. “Don’t carry it alone. There are other nurses here. Let them take the load too. You don’t have to be the only one holding everything together.”

Avalora finally glanced at her, and the sight of Jorwyn’s eyes—intense, stormy, yet undeniably gentle—made her heart stutter. She quickly looked away before she gave herself away.

Chapter Text

Jorwyn’s phone buzzed again on the cot beside her—another message from Circe.

Another client is pushing with stakes that are higher than ever. One run could make her five million richer.

Her thumb hovered over the screen, but she did not dare reply. 

She could not. 

Not when the entire station was on lockdown, not when sneaking out meant risking the health of everyone packed in these walls.

It made her restless. 

Her body itched to move, to climb, to run rooftops in the dark. She longed for the recklessness with the sting of fire at her heels, the groan of steel beams threatening to fall, the pulse of adrenaline that had been her constant companion. Now, all she had was stillness, routine, and too much time to think.

And one nurse she could not stop watching.

Avalora. 

Head harder than any wall Jorwyn had ever forced entry through. Selfless to the point of self-destruction. She worked until her hands shook, smiled until her face cracked, gave until there was nothing left, and still insisted she was fine.

Jorwyn hated caring this much. For her, caring meant tying herself down, opening doors she had long since locked. She wanted to keep Avalora at arm’s length, just another colleague, because colleagues, you can worry about and move on. 

Friends? That was different. Friends tore pieces out of you when you lost them.

And Jorwyn had lived her whole life avoiding that kind of damage.

Her classmates had stayed classmates. Neighbors stayed neighbors. Even the partner who helped her on off-the-record missions stayed just that—helpful someone, not someone close. It was cleaner that way. 

Safer.

The only exceptions she had allowed were Norelle, Garnet, and Marlowe. She did not regret letting them in—not yet, anyway. 

But Avalora? Letting her pass the line would only complicate things.

So Jorwyn told herself the same thing again and again: she was just a colleague, worried about her colleague—nothing more and nothing less.

But late at night, when she caught herself checking the nurse’s shadow in the dim lamplight, when she replayed Avalora’s stubborn smile as she pushed herself too far, Jorwyn was not so sure she still believed it.

The worry that had been gnawing at Jorwyn finally sank its claws deeper when the report came in: the dispatched unit had spread the infection. Every contact meant another chain, another risk. The numbers would only rise.

And then her thoughts turned darker. What if it’s someone from my team? She pictured their faces unloading the supplies earlier that day. It felt like a countdown, waiting for one of them to be next.

Or worse—one of Avalora’s.

The nightmare became real when Solana was rushed into quarantine, hacking into her mask as her chest jolted with every cough. Jorwyn’s stomach dropped at the sight, but her dread doubled when she saw Avalora’s face pale in panic.

“Sol, don’t worry, I’m here,” Avalora whispered, steadying the woman on the bed. Her hands remained gentle, practiced, but her eyes burned with alarm. She checked vitals, noted symptoms, and spoke aloud as if trying to steady herself.

“Stage 1. Dry throat, mild cough, eye reddening.”

Jorwyn stood right beside her, her arms folded too tightly, forcing herself to watch. She’s going to push herself too far. She always does.

Avalora’s mutter broke through, sharp and guilty. “Shit. Bakit kasi iniwan ko kayo doon. But I couldn’t let the others suffer either…”

Jorwyn leaned in, voice firm but quiet. “Ava, it’s not your fault.”

The nurse flinched like she had been struck. “Jorwyn, spare me the scolding. Si Sol ‘to.” Her voice cracked cold, too harsh for the panic trembling underneath.

Jorwyn swallowed her frustration. “I’m not scolding you. I just don’t want you tearing yourself apart.”

“Pwede ba?” Avalora snapped, eyes fixed on Solana. “Stop talking.”

The dismissal stung more than Jorwyn expected, but she bit down hard on her tongue. Fine. Words would not help. So she stayed silent but watchful, her gaze locked on Avalora’s every move.

The door burst open again, and Selene stumbled inside, her face flushed, her chest heaving.

“Are you on Stage 2 already?” Avalora barked, furious. “Why the hell are you only bringing her in now?!”

Jorwyn quickly guided Selene to the bed beside Solana. “Calm down, Ava. I’ll call Halo to take over—”

“No!” Avalora snapped, wide eyes pinning Jorwyn like a threat. “I’ll handle her.”

Jorwyn bristled. “Ava, you’re already spread thin. One patient at a time. You’ll kill yourself like this.”

“Try me.” Avalora pressed her hands against Solana’s chest.

Jorwyn froze. She knew that look, that focus, that danger humming under Avalora’s skin. And then Solana’s breathing eased, her face smoothed, her body relaxing like she had been pulled back from the edge.

“What… what did you do?” Jorwyn breathed, but the question died in her throat because another stretcher was rushed in, and this time with someone Jorwyn knew too well.

“Norelle.” Her captain’s pale face made her knees buckle. Jorwyn dropped to her side, helping lift her onto the bed.

She was so focused on her captain, she did not hear the stagger behind her until the crash hit the floor.

Her head whipped around.

Avalora lay sprawled on the tiles, skin chalk-white, her chest barely rising. Solana and Selene both lay still but peaceful, their suffering stripped away. The ruin of it all had been transferred, poured into the nurse who had given too much.

“Ava!” Jorwyn dropped to her knees, hands sliding under the nurse’s shoulders to ease her up. Avalora’s head lolled, her skin clammy, her breath shallow. Panic clawed at Jorwyn’s chest, but she forced her movements steady. There was no one else who could catch her now, so Jorwyn would.

“You idiot,” she muttered, brushing damp hair away from Avalora’s face. “How many times have I told you not to overdo it?”

Behind her, Solana stirred weakly, coughing less than before. Selene groaned, her fever easing into exhaustion. And Norelle was unconscious but stable, her breathing evened out.

Three patients, and now a fourth.

And Jorwyn was the only one left standing in the room because the other attending nurses were busy tending the others.

She eased Avalora onto a spare bed, tucking a blanket around her trembling body. Her gaze lingered too long on the nurse’s pale lips, the stubborn frown even in unconsciousness. Jorwyn pressed her lips into a thin line and stood quickly. There was no time to fall apart.

One by one, she checked the others. Cool cloth on Selene’s forehead. Adjusting Solana’s pillow and monitoring Norelle’s shallow breaths. The work piled and piled, but Jorwyn’s body did not falter. Hours slipped past like minutes, her hands steady, her focus sharp.

Most people would have collapsed by now under the weight of exhaustion, under the suffocating heat of the quarantine ward. But Jorwyn’s pulse stayed strong, her breath even, her movements unwavering. A strange endurance she never dared to question aloud.

When she finally sat back between the beds, the silence rang heavy. Avalora twitched in her sleep, a faint sound escaping her lips. Without thinking, Jorwyn reached over, adjusting the blanket again. Her fingers lingered just a second too long before she pulled back.

She’s my colleague, she reminded herself harshly. Only my colleague. That’s all she can ever be.

Still, she did not move from the bedside. She sat there, watching over all four of them, like a sentinel no sickness or weariness could touch.

And if her body ached to finally let down, if her eyes burned from hours without rest, she did not give in. She could not, and she definitely would not.

Not while Avalora lay unconscious beside her.

She dragged a chair close to the nurse’s bed and sat heavily, elbows resting on her knees. For the first time since the chaos erupted, her shoulders sagged.

Up close, Avalora looked smaller somehow. Stripped of her usual determination, the sharpness in her voice, the steady hands that always knew what to do. Pale, fragile, her lips parted as though even breathing was a battle.

Jorwyn clenched her fists. “Ano ba ‘yan, Ava. You’re not supposed to be here,” she whispered, the words gritted through her teeth. “You’re supposed to be yelling at me for interfering… or telling me to get out of the way. Not… not like this.”

She reached out, hesitated, then carefully brushed a stray lock of hair from Avalora’s face. Her hand lingered a heartbeat too long against warm skin before she drew back, shaking her head.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to care too much,” she muttered under her breath, eyes burning holes into the floor. “Look at me—sitting here like some… worried fool. Now I have to gaslight myself that you’re just my colleague, Ava. Just a colleague. That’s it.”

But the words rang hollow, even to her own ears.

She leaned back in the chair, exhaustion threatening but never conquering her. No matter how heavy her body felt, sleep would not dare claim her—not while Avalora lay there, caught in the wreckage of her own selflessness.

Jorwyn stayed. A silent sentinel, watching the slow rise and fall of Avalora’s chest, guarding her in the quiet hours of the night.

And though she had never admitted it aloud, not even to herself, the thought rooted deep in her mind, stubborn and unshakable: I can’t let anything happen to you.

Avalora stirred, her lashes trembling against pale skin, before her eyes finally opened. She blinked up at the dim room, then at Jorwyn sitting rigidly beside her, arms folded, gaze fixed like a soldier standing guard.

Her voice came out raspy, soft.

“...Jorwyn?”

Jorwyn leaned forward, her composure cracking for just a beat. “I’m here.” Relief bled through her voice, though she masked it a second too late.

Avalora’s lips curved faintly despite her weakness. “You stayed?”

Jorwyn shifted in her chair, wanting to look away but unable to. “Someone had to keep you from running yourself into the ground.” Her tone was clipped, clearly defensive, but her hand was still hovering near Avalora’s, as if ready to catch her again.

Avalora tilted her head, exhaustion loosening her guard. “No,” she whispered, eyes searching Jorwyn’s face. “You stayed because you were worried.”

The words landed sharply. Jorwyn froze, caught.

“You don’t have to hide it,” Avalora added, voice fading but earnest. “You care more than you want anyone to know.”

Jorwyn swallowed, pulse tight in her throat. For a heartbeat, she almost let it show—how true that was, how much it scared her. But then she drew back, jaw setting like stone.

“Rest, Ava,” she said firmly, cutting off any chance of reply. “That’s an order.”

Avalora’s tired smile flickered, as if she had seen through the armor anyway, but she let her eyes slip shut again. Within moments, her breathing evened out.

Jorwyn sat there in the silence, staring at the hand she had almost held. Her chest ached in ways she refused to name. She forced herself to lean back, to rebuild the distance brick by brick, even as something in her fought against it.

As Avalora closed her eyes again, finally surrendering her body to the comfort of rest, her thoughts drifted to Jorwyn. How stubborn she was.

Or maybe, Avalora thought, it was her own stubbornness, and Jorwyn had been pestering her only because she could not stop pushing herself.

She knew Jorwyn was watching not just because they were teammates, not only because Jorwyn might have caught glimpses of her secret, but because she had seen the toll Avalora’s powers carved into her body.

Her mind slipped, unmoored by fatigue, carrying her back to a memory she rarely let herself revisit.

“So you mean, every time you heal somebody, the pain they feel… transfers to you?”

“Yes.” Her own young voice, small but certain. “That’s the cost of my powers. I have to endure the pain.”

It was Foundation Day in high school. Avalora was only in seventh grade then, tiny and unsteady, but with a secret too big for her chest. The Grade 12 students had set up a Confession Booth for the event with sealed curtains, altered voices, and complete anonymity. No one could know who stepped inside.

And so she had gone in.

The filtered mic made her sound older, braver than she felt, as she admitted it.

“That’s weird,” the stranger’s voice answered through the static.

“Yeah, I know.” Avalora had hugged her knees, pressing her forehead against them. “No one would believe it anyway. The first time I used it, I healed my playmate’s scraped knee… but I walked away limping with the same sting.”

“How long does it even hurt?” the other voice asked, like they were low-key fascinated by whatever Avalora was saying.

“Uh… I mean, I’ve only tried it a few times,” Avalora mumbled, fidgeting with her hands even though no one could see her inside the booth. “But it kinda depends… like, if the wound’s really bad, the pain sticks longer. Pero kapag maliit lang, it fades quicker.”

There was a short pause before the voice piped up again, more curious now. “Wait—so, like… can you do it to yourself too?”

Avalora blinked, caught off guard. “I… I don’t know,” she admitted honestly, her voice dropping. “Haven’t really tried. But… I don’t think it works that way.”

Silence on the other side, then a dry laugh. “That’s crazy. Pero, do you know what’s crazier?”

“What?” she asked, leaning forward despite herself.

“I can summon fire.”

A sharp ding —the bell that meant the stranger had left the booth.

Avalora sat frozen, staring at the curtain. Her small hands gripped her uniform skirt.

Of course. They thought she was bluffing. Just a kid spinning stories, so they made up something more ridiculous to play along.

She told herself that over and over. But even years later, she still remembered that voice, low and certain, right before it disappeared.

As the memory faded, Avalora’s chest ached with the same heaviness she had felt that day, years ago. That lingering doubt—was she really the only one? Or had that stranger in the booth been telling the truth?

Her lashes fluttered as she stirred faintly, the quiet world of the quarantine room pressing around her. A soft rustle reached her ears: Jorwyn shifting in her chair, still at her side, keeping vigil.

Avalora’s lips curved, almost bitterly. Of course she’s here. She wouldn’t let go even when I told her to.

That stubborn presence was both comfort and weight because Jorwyn had seen how Avalora’s hands shook when the pain caught her, how her body faltered after the miracle. She could not keep pretending forever, not with those sharp eyes on her.

Still, as exhaustion pulled her deeper, Avalora held onto one thought that maybe she was not the only one carrying something impossible. Maybe one day she would find out that Jorwyn’s stubbornness came from something far heavier than just concern.

For now, though, Avalora let the dark retake her, trusting—reluctantly, stubbornly—that Jorwyn would still be there when she woke.

Jorwyn watched Avalora’s lashes lower, her breathing settling back into the fragile rhythm of rest. She did not move. Not even to stretch the stiffness in her shoulders.

The others—Solana, Selene, Norelle—were breathing easier now, their bodies mending slowly. But Avalora had taken the damage no one else could see. And Jorwyn hated how much her chest tightened every time the nurse twitched in her sleep, as if her body was still fighting ghosts of pain.

She leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees, studying the pale curve of Avalora’s face. “You call me reckless pero malala ka rin pala,” she murmured under her breath, careful not to wake her. “You take everything on yourself like the world will fall apart if you don’t.”

A beat passed. Her jaw clenched. And I’m no better. Sitting here, watching. Wanting to—

Jorwyn cut off the thought, dragging her gaze away. No. That way led to danger: emotional ties, vulnerability, all the things she had sworn not to repeat. Caring was a battlefield she never walked away from whole.

But despite herself, she stayed. Her body, unlike Avalora’s, refused to break, refused to tire. She could sit here as long as it took.

A whisper escaped before she could stop it: “Don’t make me care too much, Ava.”

Avalora was still a little sore from her collapse the other day, but she was back on her feet. To her surprise, news had spread that the VARL-SCAR members had been discharged from the ward and sent back to their quarters, and with that news came the inevitable rumors.

“Why are Nurse Ava’s teammates healing so fast?” one nurse whispered just loud enough for Avalora to hear while she was eating breakfast. Jorwyn sat across from her, silent but watchful.

“Don’t tell me even a new virus can be cured by a nurse alone?” another chimed in.

“Her dad was friends with the Chief Nurse, right? Maybe she learned some secret treatment. I heard there’s a promotion next quarter—maybe she’s angling for lead nurse. Imagine SCAR becoming an eight-man team.”

They were not even subtle as they were half-whispering, half-performing, waiting for Avalora to bite. However, she did not. She sipped her coffee, eyes down. But the firefighter across from her was not so forgiving. 

Jorwyn scraped her chair back and stood, her jaw tight.

“Jorwyn, get back here,” Avalora said quickly, but Jorwyn only glanced back and shook her head.

She crossed the room and folded her arms. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

The nurses stiffened at her tone, but one of them tried a different approach. She smiled brightly. “Hi, Jorie. Want to sit here with us?”

Jorwyn brushed off the attempt and cut in, voice firm. “Nurse Ava collapsed yesterday, from exhaustion, because she pushed herself looking after her patients.” Her eyes narrowed. “And now you have the guts to accuse her of something you don’t even know for sure?”

The little knot of nurses faltered, but one piped up again, eager to redirect. “Did you know it was supposed to be our team merged with yours? Heard Maerith pulled strings because she’s crushing on you.”

That made Avalora’s head snap up. She had not reacted to a single insult until now. But hearing her lead nurse’s name dragged into it, linked to Jorwyn of all people—her chest tightened, thoughts racing.

Jorwyn did not miss her shift in expression. Her voice turned sharp. “Seriously? What’s next, you’ll say, Solana rammed her ambulance into yours?”

“No, it’s not like th—”

“Save it, Halo.” Jorwyn cut her off with a hand raised between them, like a stop sign. “SCAR isn’t just competent—they’re the most respected unit in Amihan right now. Maybe that’s why you’re reaching this far just to drag them down.”

She did not wait for a reply. She turned on her heel, walked back to Avalora, and sat down again, picking up her fork like nothing had happened.

Avalora blinked at her. Jorwyn only offered a small smile and said deliberately, “I think we can spare the elite paramedics team a visit later. Kahit sa window lang. You think?”

Avalora’s lips twitched despite herself. Jorwyn had said elite loudly enough for the whole ward to hear.

True to her word, Jorwyn brought Avalora in front of the quarters later that day, where their teammates waved from behind the glass. Avalora, however, could not get the earlier accusation out of her head. So she blurted the first thing that had been bothering her:

“Mae, you’re crushing on Jorwyn pala?” she asked casually, almost too casually.

The room went silent. Maerith blinked. “Did the exhaustion mess with your head?”

“Ava, don’t tell me you believed them—” Jorwyn started, but Avalora shoved a hand in front of her face, silencing her.

“So?” Avalora pressed, eyes on Maerith.

“Who even told you that?” Maerith asked, bewildered.

“Halo and her crew,” Jorwyn muttered, clearly done with the whole thing.

Maerith let out a sudden bark of laughter, so loud it startled everyone. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all week. Wrong VARL-SCAR members, Ava.” She pointed to the girl beside her. “It’s Selene. She’s the one with a crush on Marlowe.”

Selene, arms crossed, only arched a brow. “Yeah. Lowe already knows.” She shot a glance at Marlowe, who giggled.

“What? How come I know nothing about this?” Solana cried, throwing her hands up and running in little circles, as if the revelation had broken her sense of order.

“That kid’s already healed,” Jorwyn muttered, amused, watching Solana lose her composure.

Avalora, however, was not done. “So you don’t have a crush on this jerk?” She pointed a thumb toward Jorwyn. “Good. Tigil mo ‘yan. She’s a jerk.” With that, she spun on her heel and started back toward their room.

The rest of the team stared after her, then turned questioning eyes on Jorwyn.

Jorwyn just shrugged, expression unreadable, and followed Avalora out.

Avalora’s steps were brisk, but Jorwyn caught up easily.

“Hoy, wait lang,” Jorwyn said, matching her pace. “Why’d you walk off like that?”

Avalora snapped her head toward her. “Because you just let them talk. Like it doesn’t matter. Like it’s fine that every time your name comes up, it’s—” she gestured vaguely, frustration spilling out, “—Maerith this, someone crushing on Jorwyn that. Do you even notice?”

Jorwyn frowned, thrown off. “Notice what?”

“That you walk around and everyone looks at you.” Avalora’s voice was sharper than she intended. “Like they know you. Like they get to say things about you—and they don’t.”

Jorwyn blinked, stopping in her tracks. “…Ava, san galing ‘to? Why does it bother you?”

“Because it’s not true!” Avalora blurted, breath catching. “And I don’t like it when people talk like they know who you care about—when they don’t.”

The words slipped out before she could reel them back. Heat flushed her face, and she looked away immediately.

Silence stretched. Jorwyn just stared, brows knitted, trying to grasp the storm she had just walked into. “…Okay. But Ava…” her voice was quieter now, careful, “why are you saying this to me like I’m the one at fault?”

Avalora swallowed hard, forcing herself to move past her own slip. “Forget it. It’s stupid.” She brushed past her, heart hammering, not daring to glance back.

Jorwyn stood rooted in the hallway, utterly baffled. “I don’t get her,” she muttered under her breath, dragging a hand through her hair. “First she ignores them, then she bites my head off…” She let out a dry huff of air, shaking her head as if that would help her make sense of it.

Jorwyn leaned her shoulder against the glass window of the VARL-SCAR quarters, arms crossed tight as she watched Solana lounging inside. Solana spotted her immediately, waving like she was greeting a long-lost lover, before waddling closer with a bag of chips in hand.

“Whoa. That face,” Solana said through the glass, crunching obnoxiously loud. “Napano ka? You look like you just wrestled a fire hydrant and lost.”

Jorwyn tilted her head, exasperated. “Ava snapped at me.”

Solana nearly choked on her chips. “WHAT?!” Her voice carried even through the barrier, and a couple of the others turned to look. Solana did not care. She pressed herself dramatically against the glass, palms flat like she was in some tragic romance movie. “She actually raised her voice at you? Tell me everything.”

Jorwyn frowned. “There’s nothing to tell. She just said she doesn’t like people talking about me, tapos nag walk out. Left me standing there like an idiot.”

Solana’s grin widened like a cat who had just found milk. “Oh my god. You don’t even realize, do you?”

“Realize what?” Jorwyn asked, clearly irritated.

“You’re dense, Jorwynina,” Solana said, pointing at her with a greasy chip finger. “Dense like… ‘can’t see a neon sign blinking in your face’ dense.”

Jorwyn squinted. “She wasn’t making sense.”

Solana rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they did not get stuck. “It makes perfect sense. Other people talk about you, tapos Ava blows up? Babygirl, connect the dots.”

Jorwyn winced at the pet name and then shook her head. “You’re imagining things.”

“Tanga.” Solana popped another chip into her mouth, chewed slowly for dramatic effect, then smirked. “Classic case of—‘It’s not about the people. It’s about you .’”

Jorwyn stared at her, still lost. “That doesn’t explain anything.”

“Yes, it does,” Solana said smugly, leaning closer to the glass like she was sharing the biggest secret of her life. “It explains everything . And when it finally clicks? Oh, I wanna be there. I’m gonna laugh so hard.”

Jorwyn groaned and rubbed her face, but Solana only cackled from behind the glass, absolutely thrilled that for once, the unshakable Jorwyn looked rattled entirely.

On the other side of the station, Avalora shut the door to her quarters harder than she intended, the sound echoing too loudly in the small room. She dropped onto the edge of her bed, then immediately stood again, restless, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

“What the hell was that, Ava?” she muttered, hands pulling at her hair. “You just—snapped. At Jorwyn. Of all people.”

She stopped, staring at the wall as if it had answers. “She didn’t even do anything wrong. She was defending me. Defending me —and what do I do? Throw an attitude in her face like some ungrateful brat.”

Her laugh came out sharp, bitter. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Nurse of the year, right here. Can heal other people’s wounds but hindi kayang itikom ang bibig pag kailangan.”

She sat again, elbows on her knees, burying her face in her palms. After a beat, she lifted her head, talking louder this time, as if saying it aloud could make it accurate.

“I don’t care what people say about Jorwyn. I don’t. I shouldn’t.”

Her voice cracked at the end, and she kicked at the floor in frustration. “But then why—why does it get under my skin the second I hear her name in somebody else’s mouth?”

She pressed her fists against her chest, as though she could pound the feeling out. “Stupid. So, so stupid. She’s just a teammate. Just a teammate. That’s it. I’m worried for my teammate.”

Silence stretched heavy in the room, her breath ragged. Then she whispered, softer now, almost like a confession slipping free:

“…Then why does it hurt to see her smile at anyone else?”

She shook her head violently, pushing the thought away, dragging her blanket over herself like armor. “Nope. Not thinking about it and not happening. I’m exhausted, that’s all. Just tired. She’s… she’s nothing. Nothing.”

But even as she lay down, squeezing her eyes shut, she knew the truth that her heart was pounding way too fast for someone who claimed Jorwyn was nothing.

Weeks passed, and the storm finally began to settle. The government announced the development of a vaccine—rushed, dangerous even by their own admission, but effective enough to halt the virus’s spread.

Despite its speed, the casualties remained far fewer than the nation had feared. Only those with already weakened bodies had succumbed, while the majority survived, thanks to the relentless efforts of medical teams across the country. Day and night, they had bought time with advanced treatment, tireless care, and sheer endurance until the world could finally catch its breath.

Now, with the vaccine in hand, stability returned piece by piece.

At BlueSent Station, SCAR and the allied medical units were the first to receive the doses, tasked with vaccinating the personnel within the base before extending their mission to the nearby town the following day. Corridors bustled with the clatter of carts, trays of syringes, and the steady rhythm of nurses calling out names. 

The atmosphere was tense but lighter than it had been in weeks—the air carried relief, even laughter in fragments, as though hope had finally dared to creep back in.

Avalora rolled up the sleeves of her uniform, preparing the tray of syringes with steady hands. For the first time in months, the station did not smell antiseptic and fear, as it smelled like coffee drifting in from the mess hall, like fresh uniforms, like a place alive again.

She glanced at her teammates through the glass partition, some laughing, some half-asleep in chairs, and felt a knot loosen in her chest. They were still here. After everything—the virus, the quarantines, the near-misses—they were all still here.

Across the room, Jorwyn was leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, chatting with Solana like nothing in the world could shake her. Avalora had watched her carry more weight than anyone else, had seen her stand through exhaustion that would have flattened even the strongest. 

And yet, Jorwyn looked the same. Whole. Untouched. Like the chaos had never touched her at all.

Ava bit the inside of her cheek, forcing the thought away—no use chasing mysteries when there was work to be done.

“Alright,” she murmured under her breath, picking up the first syringe, “let’s save this station one more time.”

“Ang haba ng karayom naman!” Norelle yelped dramatically the moment she saw the needle in Ava’s hand. She even leaned back on her chair like she was about to faint.

“Parang di sanay matahi,” Jorwyn quipped with a grin, just as Maerith slid the needle into her arm.

“Aray!” she hissed, clutching her shoulder like she had been stabbed with a sword instead of a syringe.

Selene, standing off to the side, folded her arms and shook her head. “Told you, masakit karayom ng babaeng yan! Kaya talagang ayaw ko sa kanya mag practice ng IV line dati.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Avalora muttered, keeping her focus as she moved to Norelle.

“Di pa rin kayo bati netong si Ava?” Norelle asked slyly, suddenly much braver now that she was the one under Avalora’s needle. She barely even flinched when the shot went in.

“That jerk,” Avalora said flatly, not even sparing Jorwyn a glance. 

“Ava naman, eh.” Jorwyn winced, rubbing her arm like she was making a case for sympathy. “Ang sakit oh.”

“OA mo, Jerkwyn,” Ava shot back, moving briskly to the next teammate.

Beside her, Solana, who was assisting Maerith, leaned closer to Jorwyn, whispered, “Ano na naman ba ginawa mo, babygirl?”

“I don’t even know,” Jorwyn whispered back, dead serious, which only made Solana snicker.

“Bulungan nang bulungan, parang walang trabaho,” Selene drawled, smirking. Then, in a mocking tone that was a dead ringer for Avalora: “Ganyan sasabihin ni Ava kung walang ibang tao sa paligid.”

Avalora’s head snapped up to glare at her, but Selene only grinned wider.

“Kitams?” Selene added.

“Hay naku,” Solana sighed, pointing at Jorwyn. “Ayaw pa umalis ni babygirl eh!”

“Ayaw kasi ako pansinin ni Ava,” Jorwyn replied, pitching her voice in a pitiful, almost childish whine.

“Lalo ka niyang di papansinin niyan,” Selene laughed, “galing mo rin eh.”

The vaccination drive had ended late. Most of the team had already retired to their quarters, voices fading down the hall until only the sound of boots on the polished floor remained. Avalora lingered behind, carefully logging the last vials into storage, her shoulders tight with exhaustion.

She did not hear Jorwyn at first until the soft scrape of boots stopped just a few steps away.

“You’re still here.”

Avalora stiffened. “And you’re still nosy.” She did not turn, continuing to scribble notes with a precision that looked more like armor than duty.

Jorwyn lingered at the doorway, arms folded, but her voice came softer than Avalora expected. “Kanina… why’d you look at me like that?”

Avalora did not lift her head. “I didn’t.”

“You did,” Jorwyn said, moving closer, her boots echoing against the tiles. “You looked right through me like I’d done something unforgivable.”

Avalora’s grip tightened on the pen until her knuckles whitened. She forced herself to finish the line she was writing, as though discipline alone could keep the tremor out of her voice. “You don’t get it, Jorwyn.”

“Then make me get it.” Her tone was not sharp this time, not the clipped bark Avalora was used to. It was quiet, patient, and that patience cracked something in Avalora’s chest.

She finally looked up. Jorwyn was standing too close now, shadow falling over her desk, her expression unreadable, but her eyes steady in a way that made Avalora’s breath catch.

For one suspended second, Avalora almost said it. The truth pressed hot against her tongue— I can’t stand how much I care what people say about you, how much I hate the idea that someone else could know you better than I do.

But the words never came. She swallowed them down, bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper. “Not tonight, Jor,” she whispered instead, the syllables brittle in the quiet.

She gathered her notes, stacking them neatly, her hands too controlled to be calm. The scrape of the chair as she stood sounded too loud, too final. She brushed past Jorwyn without looking at her, leaving only the faint trace of her perfume in the air.

Jorwyn did not move. She stood rooted by the desk, staring at the space Avalora had just filled, the words still hanging between them like a bridge half-built and abandoned.

Her jaw clenched. “Ava…” But the corridor was already swallowing her retreating footsteps.

And for the first time all night, Jorwyn felt the weight of silence press heavier than exhaustion.

Chapter Text

SCAR was dispatched to an elementary school in one barangay to roll out the first batch of vaccines, and as expected, VARL was on escort duty. This time, they all crammed into Garnet’s truck, giving Solana a break before her full-day grind.

Each SCAR nurse was paired with a VARL firefighter for assistance. Jorwyn had been loud about wanting to assist Avalora, but the nurse shot down her request every single time, assigning Garnet instead. 

Jorwyn, sulking, was stuck with Maerith. What made it worse was that Avalora did not look thrilled about it either.

“Bakit di ka na lang kay Selene?” Avalora muttered under her breath when she found out, her eyes sharp. “Maglalandian lang naman sila ni Marlowe.”

“Maerith said she wanted me as her assistant.” Jorwyn pouted in her direction.

“K,” Ava shoved her earbud in. “Edi magsama kayo,” turning her face away. The rest of the truck blinked at the exchange, sensing the tension but not quite understanding it.

“Parang nung nakaraan, hindi sila mapaghiwalay?” Norelle whispered, and a few heads nodded, but Jorwyn just sighed.

“She won’t even tell me why she’s being so difficult,” Jorwyn muttered, crossing her arms and leaning back hard against the seat.

“Ikaw na naman kasi,” Solana whispered, sliding closer until she looped her arm with Jorwyn’s. “Alam ko bakit. Pero secret muna—gusto ko munang makita how this whole thing will play out.” Her teasing grin earned her a glare from Jorwyn.

The firefighter opened her mouth to argue, but she suddenly felt eyes burning into her. She looked up to find Avalora staring daggers at her from across the truck. When Jorwyn met her gaze, the nurse only rolled her eyes and looked away.

The ride ended, and the crew was ushered into classrooms where lines of residents already waited. 

The air outside the elementary school still carried that faint tang of alcohol and disinfectant. Even before they entered the building, everyone was tugging at masks and rubbing sanitizer into their hands for the tenth time that morning. It was routine by now, as every movement was drilled into them through weeks of outbreak protocols.

Inside, the classrooms had been stripped down to neat rows of plastic chairs. The windows were cracked open for ventilation despite the heat, and tape on the floor marked where people were supposed to stand while waiting their turn. 

The SCAR nurses fanned out into their assigned rooms, VARL trailing behind with boxes of supplies. Garnet’s truck still smelled faintly of smoke and engine oil, but here, everything smelled like sterile alcohol and sweat beneath fabric masks.

Jorwyn tried one last pout as Avalora disappeared into her assigned room, but the nurse’s only reply was a clenched fist raised in mock-threat.

“Ugali mo!” Jorwyn mouthed.

By lunch, everyone regrouped in Selene and Marlowe’s room, unpacking the station’s prepared meals. Jorwyn wasted no time, sliding onto the chair beside Avalora; however, the nurse ignored her completely.

“Ava, ayaw mo ba talaga switch partners?” Jorwyn tried again, her voice hopeful.

“Kumain ka diyan,” Avalora replied flatly, eyes fixed on her food.

“Eh kakain lang ako kapag pumayag kang mag-partner tayo.” Jorwyn leaned closer, stubborn as ever.

Still nothing.

“Avaaaaa—”

Dead air.

“Ava naman eh—”

Her chopsticks clinked louder against her lunchbox.

“Avaloraaaa—”

“Babygirl, naririndi na ako,” Solana cut in, stabbing her fork into her pork with exaggerated annoyance.

“Eh Sol, ayaw niya ako pansinin!” Jorwyn dropped her utensils and crossed her arms.

Avalora, true to form, kept eating. Solana smirked like the devil just handed her the best prank idea. She dragged her chair between the two and plopped down with dramatic flair.

“Sol naman!” Jorwyn whined. “Paano pa ‘ko papansinin ni Ava niyan?”

Avalora kept her gaze down, chewing calmly as if Jorwyn did not exist.

“Relax.” Solana turned to Jorwyn with a smug smile. “Susubuan kita. Tigilan mo na ‘tong si Ava.” She threw a glance over her shoulder, and to her satisfaction, Avalora’s eyes immediately flicked toward them.

“What do you—” Jorwyn’s protest was cut off by Solana shoving a spoonful of food into her mouth.

“Chew first, babygirl,” Solana cooed.

The entire table froze, all eyes on the scene.

“What are you even doing?” Norelle sputtered, her own spoon hanging mid-air.

“What?” Solana replied innocently. “Magugutom ‘to pag walang magpakain.”

Jorwyn chewed reluctantly, glaring. “Sol, di nga ako kakain hanggat di—”

“Fine.” Avalora’s voice cut sharply and suddenly, stopping everyone cold. She set down her chopsticks and fixed Solana with a flat, warning stare. “Tama na ‘yan. Let her eat by herself.”

Solana raised her hands in mock-surrender. “Whoa there. Joke lang, chill.” She scooted back immediately, but her grin said she had won something.

With the space cleared, Jorwyn wasted no time inching her chair closer to Avalora. “Totoo ba? Partners na tayo?” she asked, grin spreading from ear to ear.

“Oo nga. Kumain ka na,” Ava muttered, still refusing to look at her.

That was all she gave, but it was more than before.

Jorwyn grinned so wide it made her teammates groan. Across the table, Solana caught her eye and winked. Jorwyn flashed her a smug thank-you smile.

Avalora? She did not look up once. But her chopsticks moved faster, like maybe if she focused hard enough on her food, she would not betray the heat prickling at her ears.

When lunch wrapped up and the crew began heading back to their classrooms, Avalora lingered a second longer than the rest, rinsing her lunchbox at the sink. Norelle strolled up beside her, leaning casually against the counter with her arms crossed.

“So…” Norelle drawled, her grin already dangerous. “For someone na parang nawalan ng pake kay Jorwyn, ang bilis mong palayasin si Solana kanina.”

Avalora froze, the water running steadily over her hands. “She was being a distraction. Hindi pwede ‘yon habang trabaho.”

Norelle raised an eyebrow. “Trabaho, habang lunch? Eh bakit parang gusto mo siyang kainin ng buhay nung subuan niya si Jorwyn?”

Avalora snapped the lid of her lunchbox shut louder than necessary. “Huwag ka nga, Norelle. Ang kulit mo.”

But Norelle only smirked wider. “Eh bakit muna nakakamatay tingin mo kanina, hmm?”

Avalora opened her mouth, ready with a denial, when a familiar voice broke in.

“Ava, let’s go?” Jorwyn’s head poked in the doorway, already carrying the tray of syringes she was assigned to. She looked like a kid waiting for her mom to finish chatting.

“Coming,” Avalora said quickly, brushing past Norelle before the captain could throw more fuel into the fire.

Of course, Norelle followed them both down the hallway, humming under her breath like she was plotting something.

Jorwyn was stuck carrying things again, though this time she was stuck with Avalora—finally, after all her pouting and whining throughout the day. But instead of looking pleased about it, Avalora had doubled down on her usual distance, her mask hiding half her scowl but not the sharpness of her voice.

“Keep your distance from the patients,” she snapped, as if Jorwyn had not been listening through three full training briefings.

“Relax, I know the drill,” Jorwyn said lightly, balancing the tray against her hip. “Masks, sanitizer, no touching anyone unless I’m passing stuff to you.”

“Exactly,” Avalora muttered, already wiping down a tray before laying out syringes. She would not even look at Jorwyn, though her ears were definitely red above the elastic loops of her mask.

Avalora set her things neatly on the desk as people filed in. Jorwyn moved to stand by her side, eager as ever.

“Okay, ready?” Jorwyn asked, her grin too bright.

“Just… hold the trays steady,” Avalora said, not looking at her.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Norelle, stationed at the door to manage the line, peeked inside every so often. And every time, her grin got bigger. She saw the nurse right beside Jorwyn, who hovered—ready to hand her anything, carry anything, or jump at the slightest cue.

“You’re too close,” Avalora muttered as she jabbed another patient’s arm with practiced ease.

Jorwyn leaned back half a step but did not move away. “I’m supposed to be assisting you.”

“You’re breathing down my neck.”

“I can hold my breath if you want?” Jorwyn teased, lips quirking.

From the next desk over, Norelle snorted. “Grabe, Ava, hindi ka ba natutuwa? You’ve got your own bodyguard-slash-assistant-slash-fan club.”

“Fan club ka d’yan,” Avalora shot back, voice flat.

But Jorwyn, delighted, only grinned wider. “See? Even Norelle thinks we make a good team.”

Avalora did not respond, and she focused harder on the syringe in her hand, as if it were the most complicated thing in the world.

“You’re blushing,” Norelle whispered just loud enough for Ava to hear when she passed her.

“I’m not.” Avalora’s tone was clipped.

“Mmhm,” Norelle hummed, smug. “Kunwari tsundere.”

“Shut up, Norelle.”

Midway through the day, the room was steady now, the line moving faster. Jorwyn was surprisingly good at calming nervous kids, kneeling to joke with them before handing them off to Avalora.

Norelle strolled into their room during a lull, holding her clipboard. “Grabe naman. Perfect tandem pala kayo.”

“We’re not a tandem,” Avalora said immediately, capping a syringe.

Jorwyn, oblivious, just grinned. “Oo nga, pero bagay naman, diba? Nurse and firefighter, sounds like a team-up.”

Norelle almost choked, holding back laughter. She pointed at Jorwyn, eyes dancing at Avalora. “See? Even she thinks so!”

Avalora exhaled sharply through her nose. “Norelle, get out before I use this syringe on you.”

“Oooh, scary. Pero Ava, wag ka magalit, baka isipin namin may tinatago ka.” Norelle winked and slipped out again, leaving Avalora with her ears pink.

The sun was already sinking, streaking the schoolyard orange. VARL-SCAR were lugging boxes and coolers back toward the truck. Avalora stacked cartons neatly by the steps, sweat dampening her collar, while Jorwyn followed right behind like a guard dog with a wagging tail.

“Don’t drop that,” Avalora instructed as Jorwyn carried the last of the coolers.

“I won’t naman ah,” Jorwyn said easily, setting it down with exaggerated care. “See? Gentle hands.”

Avalora rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“That’s what you like about me.”

Before Avalora could retort, Norelle strolled over, sipping on her iced tea from the sari-sari store, her grin all teeth. “Uy, uy, uy. Sweet naman.”

Avalora’s head whipped around. “No. No, it’s not.”

“Not sweet?” Norelle clutched her chest dramatically. “Jorwyn literally carried all your stuff like a knight in shining armor. Kung ako ‘yan, kinilig na ako.”

Avalora’s ears burned. “She’s just… persistent. Like a mosquito.”

“Cute mosquito,” Jorwyn chimed in, grinning.

Avalora nearly groaned.

“Tsundere, tsundere,” Norelle sing-songed, spinning her straw like she was conducting an orchestra.

Avalora’s jaw clenched. “Norelle, do you want to handle tomorrow’s stockroom inventory alone?”

“Worth it,” Norelle said instantly, her smirk only deepening.

Across the lot, Solana snorted so loud that half the crew turned. “Ay nako. Telenovela levels na ‘to.”

The truck was noisy with chatter and clanking containers, but Avalora sat stiffly against the window, arms crossed like a barricade.

Naturally, Jorwyn dropped into the seat right beside her.

“Ava.”

Silence.

“Ava.”

More silence.

“Avaloraaaa—”

“WHAT?” Avalora finally snapped, whipping her head around, eyes narrowed.

Jorwyn just grinned wider. “Hi.”

Avalora’s nostrils flared. “Shut. Up.”

The whole truck roared with laughter. Garnet banged her fist on the side, choking on her water.

“Walanghiya ka, Jorwyn,” Avalora muttered darkly, turning back to the window.

“Salamat,” Jorwyn replied cheerfully, as if she had been complimented.

Norelle, lounging across from them with her drink, raised her cup like a toast. “To the tsundere and her knight! May this slow-burn last forever.”

Avalora looked dangerously close to shoving her out of the moving vehicle.

Back at the station, the teasing still did not stop. The courtyard filled with the clattering of boxes and the sound of footsteps as the group unloaded supplies. Norelle hummed sappy love songs under her breath just loud enough for Avalora to hear. The nurse’s jaw tightened, her clipboard creaking under the pressure of her grip.

Jorwyn shouldered two boxes at once, moving as if she carried nothing at all. Her surgical mask had slipped loose from all the lifting, dangling below her chin.

“Jor, ayusin mo ‘yung mask mo,” Avalora barked as she passed by.

“Can’t,” Jorwyn said without missing a beat, hefting her load higher. “My hands are full. Unless… someone helps?”

She tilted her head toward Avalora, eyes glinting with deliberate mischief.

Avalora stopped dead. “You—you’re insufferable.”

But the mask was slipping dangerously by one loop, and the sight made her twitch. Muttering under her breath, she stomped back. Her hands worked briskly, tugging the mask into place over Jorwyn’s nose and mouth. She yanked the elastic straps with unnecessary force, the motion halfway between care and punishment.

“There,” she snapped. “Happy?”

Jorwyn’s eyes curved above the fabric, the smile unmistakable. “Ecstatic.”

A heavy thud echoed through the courtyard as Norelle dropped her box like it was an offering to the gods. “OH. MY. GOD. Did everyone just see that? Did our ice queen just tuck in her girl’s mask for her?!”

Laughter exploded. Garnet clapped once, delighted. Solana doubled over, wheezing, while Maerith tried and failed to cover her giggle.

Avalora’s cheeks went crimson. “It’s protocol, you morons!” she yelled, waving her clipboard like a weapon. “That’s it! That’s all!”

But the gleam in their eyes said no one believed her.

“Sure, protocol,” Solana teased, grinning wickedly. “Protocol never looked so tender.”

Avalora made a strangled noise and spun on her heel, storming toward the supply room before anyone else could add fuel to the fire.

Behind her, Jorwyn adjusted the boxes in her arms with ease, the corners of her eyes still crinkled in laughter beneath her freshly secured mask.

The following days blurred into routine. SCAR administered vaccines in schools, barangay halls, and community gyms, while VARL carried boxes and kept watch. Throughout those days, Jorwyn was a constant shadow at Avalora’s side.

Wherever Avalora went—between classrooms, back to the truck, even to the edge of the cafeteria line—Jorwyn hovered. Not loud, not intrusive, just there. Carrying things for her without being asked, standing close enough that Avalora always caught the brush of her presence.

For Jorwyn, it was persistence. She could not stand Avalora’s distance anymore, her clipped words and sharp tone that made no sense when paired with the little hints of softness Jorwyn had glimpsed before. She wanted answers, and if Avalora would not say them, Jorwyn would stay close until she slipped.

For Avalora, it was torture—sweet, dizzying torture. Every time Jorwyn’s shadow fell across her, every time she caught her gaze lingering, Avalora’s pulse betrayed her. She kept her mask tight, her tone sharp, her replies dismissive. But inside, she could not deny the thrill: that she mattered enough to be chased.

Nearing the end of the vaccination drive, the nation was stabilizing. The vaccine was out, responders inoculated, and for the first time in weeks, the lockdown lifted. The station quieted, and everyone prepared to head home.

The courtyard was nearly empty by the time Avalora finally shouldered her bag and clutched the small boxes of leftover supplies. Most of the others had already gone, their laughter echoing faintly down the street as cars pulled away. Only Jorwyn lingered by her truck, leaning on the driver’s side door with her arms crossed, as if she had been waiting for this exact moment.

Jorwyn leaned against her truck, helmet tucked under one arm, watching Avalora as she packed her things. “Ava, wala na magsasabay sayo oh,” she pointed out casually. “Dami mo dala.”

Avalora adjusted her bag on her shoulder, stubborn as ever. “I can handle myself, Jor. Thank you na lang.”

Jorwyn sighed. “You’ve been saying that for days.”

“And it’s been true for days.” Avalora kept her tone clipped. “Solana will drive me,” she added quickly, already glancing at her phone.

“Solana didn’t bring her car,” Jorwyn countered smoothly. “Si Garnet na nagdrive para sakanya, and nakaalis na sila.”

Avalora’s fingers tightened on her phone, her escape plan crumbling. She flicked her screen open anyway, scrolling for a taxi booking. “Then I’ll get a taxi na lang. Easy.”

Jorwyn’s shoulders slumped. Her voice softened, almost shy. “I’m hoping we can talk na din… This whole you ignoring me thing, ang tagal na.” She scuffed her boot against the ground, eyes darting down, the hint of vulnerability slipping through her usually steady frame.

Avalora’s eyes stayed on her screen. “We don’t have anything to talk about.”

The dismissal stung. Jorwyn let out a frustrated breath, reached out, and snatched the phone straight from Avalora’s hand.

“Hey! Give it back!” Avalora lunged at her, her composure cracking into indignation.

“I won’t give it back unless you talk to me properly,” Jorwyn shot back, her tone firm—no teasing this time.

Avalora’s heart skipped at the seriousness in her voice, but her pride bristled. “Stop being a menace, Jor,” she snapped, folding her arms, trying to cover the heat rising in her chest.

Jorwyn met her glare with quiet stubbornness, holding the phone just out of reach.

Avalora clenched her fists, trying to mask the rush in her chest. Why did her heart always race like this when it came to Jorwyn? Why did she care so much about her attention—enough that being ignored would probably hurt worse than this teasing persistence?

“Jorwyn, I’m serious. Give it back.” Her voice wavered before she steadied it with sharpness. “I don’t need you tailing me every second like—like I matter that much to you.”

The words slipped out too quickly, more honest than she intended.

Jorwyn blinked, caught off guard. “...What?”

Heat surged into Avalora’s face. She looked away fast, crossing her arms tighter. “I mean—you’re just being annoying, that’s all! I can handle myself. I don’t need a watchdog.”

Her tone snapped back to cold dismissal, but the crack in her wall had already shown.

Jorwyn tilted her head, studying her as though trying to read between the lines. The firefighter’s brows knit, confusion flickering in her gaze. “I never said you couldn’t handle yourself.” Her voice softened again, almost too much. “I just… wanted to make sure you’re not carrying everything alone.”

Avalora’s breath hitched, her throat tightening at the gentleness. She covered it with a scoff, snatching her phone back in one swift motion when Jorwyn’s grip slackened from hesitation.

“Next time,” Avalora muttered, stuffing it in her pocket, “don’t act like you know what I need.”

“Then stop pretending I don’t exist.”

They stood there, both breathing harder than the situation demanded, until a gust of evening wind broke the silence. Avalora finally exhaled sharply, rolling her eyes.

“Fine. I’ll ride with you. But only because no taxi is available.” She fixed the bag hanging on her shoulder, “Not because of you.”

Jorwyn’s mouth tugged into a lopsided smile. “Got it.” She then hurried to open the passenger side door.

Avalora slid in, muttering, “You’re insufferable,” as she balanced the boxes on her lap.

The ride home started in taut silence. The hum of the engine filled the space between them, broken only by the occasional squeak of Avalora’s boxes shifting when Jorwyn turned a corner.

“You hungry?” Jorwyn asked after a few minutes.

“No.”

“Sure? We can stop by a karinderya—”

“I said no.”

Jorwyn chuckled under her breath, glancing at her. “Grabe ka, parang ayaw mo talaga akong kasama.”

“Exactly.” Avalora stared straight out the window, her reflection sharp in the glass.

The truck rolled over a rough patch of road, jolting the boxes on her lap. Avalora let out a small gasp, tightening her hold. Without a word, Jorwyn eased her foot off the accelerator, steering carefully around the next pothole, slowing more than necessary.

Avalora noticed. She did not say anything, but the corner of her mouth twitched before she forced it flat again.

A few more minutes passed. Jorwyn tried again. “Alam mo, I don’t mind if you’re mad. I just… like being around.”

Avalora finally turned her head, her eyes sharp. “You’re imagining things.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Jorwyn grinned, unfazed. “Then I’ll keep imagining.”

Avalora let out an exasperated sound, part scoff, part laugh; she refused to let it escape fully. She hugged the boxes tighter, shaking her head.

At a stoplight, the truck idled. Avalora’s mask had slipped slightly down her face, hanging awkwardly at her chin. She tried to nudge it back with her shoulder, but the boxes pinned her arms. Jorwyn noticed immediately.

“Hold still,” Jorwyn murmured, leaning closer.

“What are you—”

Before Avalora could protest, Jorwyn tugged the elastic back up, settling the mask snugly over her nose. Her fingers brushed Avalora’s cheek for the briefest moment, warm and deliberate.

Avalora froze, blinking. Her heart thudded hard against the boxes she held.

“There,” Jorwyn said softly, as if it were nothing. “Protocol, remember? Don’t want you getting careless.”

Avalora snapped her gaze forward, ears burning. “You could’ve just minded your own business.”

“Can’t,” Jorwyn replied with a small smile, eyes fixed on the road as the light turned green. “Your business kinda feels like mine.”

Avalora gripped the boxes tighter, refusing to answer. The silence stretched again, but this time, it pulsed differently, like a string pulled taut, waiting to snap.

The truck pulled into Avalora’s neighborhood, the narrow streets dimly lit by scattered streetlamps. Jorwyn slowed to a crawl, as though deliberately dragging out the ride. Avalora sat stiffly, staring straight ahead, her mask tugged too tight now after Jorwyn had fixed it for her.

“You can drop me here,” Avalora said flatly as they neared the corner. “I’ll walk the rest.”

Jorwyn kept driving, ignoring the instruction. “Not happening. Ang dami mong dala. What if may snatcher?”

“I can handle myself.”

“You’ve been saying that since forever.” Jorwyn’s voice held a soft edge, gentler than her usual playful tone. “But you don’t have to, Ava. You don’t have to handle everything by yourself.”

Avalora’s grip on the boxes tightened. She hated how the words made her chest ache. “Stop talking like you know me.”

“I want to.”

The words hung in the air. Avalora’s throat worked, but no reply came. She turned to the window, pretending to be fascinated by the shadow of trees rolling past.

When they finally pulled up in front of her building, Jorwyn cut the engine and hopped out before Avalora could argue. She rounded the truck, pulling the boxes out of Avalora’s lap with ease.

“Jor, seriously, I can—”

“Don’t even start.” Jorwyn balanced the boxes against her hip and motioned toward the entrance. “Lead the way.”

Avalora fumbled with her keys, muttering under her breath, “Stubborn firefighter…” She pushed open the entry and walked inside the building, Jorwyn close behind.

At the doorstep, Jorwyn set the boxes down carefully. Instead of leaving right away, she straightened and looked at Avalora squarely.

“Why do you keep pushing me away?” Jorwyn asked, her voice low. “I’m not asking for much. Just… be honest with me, kahit once lang.”

Avalora froze, hand still on the doorknob. She could feel the weight of Jorwyn’s gaze burning into her. “There’s nothing to say,” she whispered.

“That’s not true.”

Avalora turned, finally meeting her eyes. Her chest rose and fell quickly, like she was running a sprint. “You don’t get it. If I say it—if I tell you why I get so… so messed up whenever you’re around—” She bit her lip hard, cutting herself off, realizing too late how much she’d revealed.

Jorwyn blinked, momentarily stunned. “Messed up? Because of me?”

Avalora’s face flushed, panic rushing in. She shook her head quickly, fumbling with the lock. “Forget it. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Ava.” Jorwyn’s voice softened, careful, like she was handling something fragile. “Then how did you mean it?”

Avalora pushed the door open in a rush, stepping inside to put distance between them. “Thanks for the ride. You can go now.”

Her tone was dismissive, but her hands trembled against the doorframe.

Jorwyn lingered a second longer, searching her face. Then, with a quiet sigh, she said, “One day, you won’t be able to hold it in anymore.”

The words struck Avalora like a spark against dry tinder. She almost spun around, nearly confessed fully, but instead, she slammed the door shut between them before her heart could betray her further.

Jorwyn stood in the hallway for a moment, staring at the closed door. Then she bent, stacking the boxes neatly by the side of the entrance before walking back outside to her truck, her chest tight with questions she could not untangle.

Jorwyn drove back in silence, the hum of the engine filling the space Avalora’s words had left behind.

Messed up whenever you’re around.

She gripped the wheel tighter, brows furrowing. What was that supposed to mean? Was Avalora saying Jorwyn was distracting her from work? That she was too noisy, too persistent?

“That’s gotta be it,” Jorwyn muttered under her breath, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. “She probably thinks I get in the way. Or… maybe she doesn’t trust me yet.”

But the way Avalora said it kept replaying in her mind—the slip, the hesitation, the way her face went pale and flushed at the same time. That was not just an annoyance. It sounded almost… personal.

Jorwyn shook her head, forcing a small laugh at herself. “Nah. I’m overthinking. Ava’s serious about protocols, about doing everything perfectly. Probably I just… mess up her rhythm. Yeah, that’s all.”

Still, the doubt gnawed at her. If it was just about work, why did Avalora look so rattled? Why did she slam the door like her heart was about to spill out?

She sighed, leaning back in her seat as the city lights flickered past the windshield. “Fine, Ava. Don’t tell me. I’ll figure it out myself.”

For the rest of the drive, Jorwyn stayed quiet, but her mind was anything but. She went over every moment from the past weeks—Avalora’s cold glares, her sharp words, the rare softness that slipped through when she thought no one was looking. Each piece lined up like part of a puzzle, Jorwyn did not know how to solve.

By the time she pulled up at her own place, she was no closer to an answer. Only one thing was clear—whatever Avalora was hiding, it was big enough to shake her.

And Jorwyn was not about to let it go.

The next day, the vaccination drive resumed as usual. SCAR’s medics lined up their coolers and boxes, VARL’s escorts spread out to manage the flow of people. 

But something was different.

Jorwyn, instead of naturally drifting toward Avalora like she always did, walked straight up to Solana.

“Hey, Sol. Ako na partner mo today,” she said casually, thumping Solana’s shoulder before the other woman could even react.

Solana blinked at her. “H-ha? Wait lang—dati si Ava lagi ka, ah. What’s with the sudden change, babygirl?”

“Wala. Trip lang. Variety.” Jorwyn shrugged, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Baka nagsasawa na sa akin si Avalora.”

Across the table, Avalora’s head snapped up at that. She did not say anything, only adjusted the straps of her medical bag a little too tightly before turning away.

Selene, of course, noticed everything. “Ooooh,” she sang under her breath, sidling up beside Avalora. “Cold war ba ‘to? Nagka-away kayo ni babygirl?”

Avalora gave her a flat look. “Stop talking nonsense. Focus ka sa trabaho mo.”

Selene only smirked.

Out in the field, Jorwyn stuck close to Solana as they made their rounds. She carried the supply box for her, checked the patient lists, and even joked around to keep the mood light. But underneath her usual energy, her thoughts were still stuck on Avalora’s almost-confession.

Solana caught her spacing out mid-lineup and nudged her. “Hoy. What’s with the face? Para kang binagyo.”

“Huh? Wala,” Jorwyn muttered, shoving the clipboard at her.

“‘Wala’ daw.” Solana narrowed her eyes, then grinned knowingly. “This is about Ava, isn’t it? Don’t lie, Jor, I know you.”

Jorwyn groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Bro, she said something yesterday… parang—ugh. I don’t even know what it meant.”

“Ooohhh, spill,” Solana said, voice dropping dramatically.

“She said… she gets messed up when I’m around,” Jorwyn admitted quietly, lowering her voice so only Solana could hear.

Solana froze, eyes going wide, then immediately bit back a laugh. “Jor, do you even hear yourself? That’s—”

“Don’t. Don’t even start.” Jorwyn cut her off, cheeks heating despite herself. “I know what you’re thinking, pero hindi. She probably just meant I distract her, or I get in her way. Work stuff lang. Nothing more.”

“Yeah, sure.” Solana waggled her brows. “Pero bakit ganyan itsura mo, parang iniwan ka sa ere?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense!” J orwyn hissed. “She hates it when I’m near her, pero she slipped like that. Ano ba ibig sabihin nun? Am I really just… annoying her that much?”

Solana snorted, about to reply when she noticed someone watching them from a few feet away. Avalora, arms crossed, eyes narrowed just slightly, was clearly observing the two.

“Uh-oh,” Solana muttered, straightening. “Speaking of.”

Jorwyn followed her gaze and stiffened. Avalora immediately turned back to her patient, but the flicker of irritation on her face was unmistakable.

Later, when they regrouped at the truck, Avalora finally broke. “Since when do you volunteer to partner with Solana?” she asked flatly, not even looking at Jorwyn as she packed up supplies.

“Since today,” Jorwyn answered, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Right. Variety,” Avalora muttered, repeating Jorwyn’s excuse from earlier. Her tone was sharp enough to cut.

Solana, sensing danger, coughed loudly. “Okayyy, I’m gonna… check the back. Y’all handle your—uh—logistics.” She ducked out before Avalora could glare her into ash.

Jorwyn tilted her head at Avalora. “What, jealous ka ba?”

Avalora snapped her head up, face heating instantly. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, you looked mad kanina.” Jorwyn grinned, though her chest was thumping too fast for her liking. “Relax. It’s just work. Partners change all the time naman diba?”

“Then don’t read into my expression,” Avalora shot back, slamming the supply box shut harder than necessary. “I don’t care who you partner with.”

But the flush on her face betrayed her, and Jorwyn, despite all her confusion, could not help but notice it.

When the mission wrapped up, the sun was already slipping low, casting an orange glow over the streets. Everyone was drained, but the long day had not thinned the air between Avalora and Jorwyn, as it only made it heavier.

Solana, arms full of leftover supplies, stretched with a groan. “Grabe, I need three days of sleep. Sino may car? Hatid niyo na ako.”

Jorwyn jingled her keys. “Sakto. Tara.”

Avalora, who was still organizing the vaccine boxes, froze in place. She had been mentally preparing herself to tell Jorwyn that she would instead take a taxi again, but with Solana hopping in, she no longer had the excuse.

By the time they piled into the truck, Avalora found herself sandwiched in the passenger seat while Solana sprawled in the back. Jorwyn started the engine.

Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence.

“Hoy,” Solana said finally, breaking it. “ Ang tahimik niyo. This is the most awkward ride home I've ever had. Did you two fight? Parang may silent drama akong hindi invited.”

“No,” Avalora snapped too quickly.

“Yes,” Jorwyn said at the same time, calm but pointed.

Their eyes clashed across the cab, the kind of stare that carried whole conversations without a word. Avalora broke first, looking out the window with a muttered, “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Solana leaned forward between their seats, smirking. “Ohhh, so may something nga. Babe, spill. Ava, you look like you’re gonna explode.”

Avalora’s tone cut firm, almost commanding. “Sol, sit back.” Then her voice twisted sharper, bitter at the edges. “And babe na ngayon? Funny—just a moment ago she was only ‘babygirl.’”

Solana’s lips curled, satisfaction sparking behind her eyes. Avalora’s bitterness was not a wound—it was proof. Proof she had struck where she wanted, that her little game had worked. She leaned back as if nothing had happened, but inside she savored the sharpness of Avalora’s voice like a victory.

But Jorwyn, ignoring Avalora’s comments, almost in defiance, spoke. “She’s just been ignoring me. Like, for days now.”

Avalora whipped around. “I have not—”

“Yes, you have.” Jorwyn kept her eyes on the road, grip firm on the wheel. “And you won’t even tell me why.”

Her bluntness sucked the air out of the truck. Avalora opened her mouth, closed it, then clenched her fists in her lap. The words rose— Because you make me feel things I shouldn’t. Because I can’t think straight when you’re near. But what came out was only:

“You’re reading too much into it.”

Jorwyn’s jaw flexed. “Am I?”

Solana sat back slowly, sensing the storm brewing, for once choosing not to joke. The silence returned, thicker than before.

They drove the rest of the way with nothing but the hum of the engine between them. But when they finally pulled up in front of Avalora’s house, Jorwyn killed the engine and spoke without turning her head.

“You keep saying there’s nothing to talk about, Ava. But it feels like there is.” Her voice was low, serious, almost tired. “And I’m not gonna stop asking until you’re honest with me.”

Avalora froze, hand halfway to the doorway. Her heart hammered, and her throat was dry. She could only whisper, almost too quiet to hear: “…Then maybe you should not ask.”

The words hung in the air like a knife suspended on a thread.

Her grip on the strap of her bag was white-knuckled as she walked briskly up the short path to her entrance. Every step felt like dragging herself through quicksand.

The click of the lock echoed in the silence of her empty unit. She leaned back against the door, chest rising and falling fast like she’d run a marathon. Only then did she allow herself to press a hand over her racing heart.

Stupid. Stupid. Why did I say that?

Her words replayed in her head: Then maybe you shouldn’t ask. It had slipped out raw, unfiltered, almost a confession if Jorwyn had been sharp enough to catch the undertone. Avalora squeezed her eyes shut, cursing herself.

“God, why do you make it so hard?” she muttered into the quiet, voice breaking in a way she would never allow in front of anyone else. “Why can’t you just stop looking at me like that?”

Her knees wavered, and she slid down until she was sitting on the floor with her back against the door. The muffled sound of the truck’s engine starting again reached her ears. She buried her face in her hands, half-relieved, half-hollow.

Because as much as she wanted Jorwyn to stop asking, some part of her had wanted her to stay.

Inside the firefighter’s truck, Jorwyn’s fingers were still on the steering wheel. Solana shifted in her seat, arms folded as she turned to Jorwyn. “Well. That was… awkward.”

Jorwyn gripped the wheel tighter than necessary. “Yeah.”

“Care to explain why Ava looked ready to either cry or murder someone?”

Jorwyn exhaled, staring straight at the windshield. The engine idled, low and steady, filling the silence until she finally muttered, “She just keeps pushing me away. And I don’t even know what I did wrong.”

Solana raised a brow. “You mean besides breathing near her twenty-four seven?”

“Ha-ha.” Jorwyn shot her a glare, but it lacked heat. “I’m serious. She said something earlier, and it just—” She stopped, jaw tightening.

Solana leaned forward, propping her elbow against the dashboard. “And it just… what?”

Jorwyn’s voice dropped. “Like maybe she doesn’t hate me as much as she pretends. But she won’t say it. She won’t admit anything. And I—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “ Never mind. Forget it.”

A slow grin spread across Solana’s face. “Oh, this is rich. You’re losing sleep over Ava, aren’t you?”

Jorwyn groaned, slumping back in her seat. “I’m not. It’s just frustrating. That’s all. We’re supposed to be teammates, right? Colleagues. I just want to know why she’s acting like… like…” She trailed off, fumbling for words.

“Like you mean more to her than she wants to admit?” Solana supplied, far too pleased with herself.

Jorwyn shot her another look, ears burning red. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Solana teased. “Your face said it for you.”

“God, you’re insufferable.” Jorwyn shoved the gear into drive, pulling the truck away from the curb a little too fast.

Solana only chuckled, opening the door to exit the vehicle, a picture of smug amusement. 

But as the truck rolled down the quiet street, Jorwyn could not stop Avalora’s words from replaying in her mind. Then maybe you shouldn’t ask.

And for the first time, she was not sure if it was a rejection or a crack in the wall Avalora had built between them.

Chapter Text

The fire station kitchen was quiet that afternoon, too quiet for Jorwyn’s taste. 

She had claimed the space with the confidence of someone who had no business being there, sleeves rolled up, and her hair tied back in a loose knot that kept slipping into her eyes. A pot of oil hissed on the stove while diced garlic sizzled in the pan.

Cooking was not exactly her specialty, but she had promised the team something better than instant noodles. And besides, she liked the normalcy of it—the grounding rhythm of stirring, the scent of browned onions instead of scorched wood.

She did not notice right away when the oil popped, causing a sharp crack that flung a streak of fire across the counter. A rag caught instantly, flames racing up with greedy speed. In seconds, the whole corner of the stove looked ready to roar.

Most people would have panicked.

However, Jorwyn did not mind it at all.

Her lips pressed into a calm line as she reached for the pot lid, cutting off the fire’s air with a precise slap. With her free hand, she smothered the flaming rag against the sink. Flames hissed and curled, licking at the handkerchief tied by Solana earlier around her wrist.

The fire bit her skin, and she felt it—the sting, sharp and searing. Her breath hitched, face tightening as heat lashed up her nerves. 

For three seconds, the pain was real.

Then it was gone.

She flexed her wrist, the scorched handkerchief hanging in blackened tatters, but the skin beneath was untouched. It was still smooth and not even pink. She exhaled, a quiet, almost amused chuckle under her breath—c lose call, she thought.

And then—

“You really don’t make anything easy, do you?”

Jorwyn spun and saw that Avalora was in the doorway, one shoulder braced against the frame, her expression unreadable. She carried a clipboard in one hand, a water bottle in the other, as if she had only meant to pass through, but her eyes were locked on Jorwyn’s wrist.

The firefighter was caught.

Jorwyn’s grin came quick and crooked, sharp enough to mask the sudden jolt in her chest. “Wow, Ava, are you stalking me now? Kitchen fires aren’t in your department.”

For Jorwyn, it was safer to throw the weight of the moment back at Avalora, to make it a joke. She thinks that teasing was armor; it always had been with Avalora.

However, Avalora did not bite, and she pushed away from the doorway, crossing the tiled floor in three steady steps. “Patingin nga niyan.”

“Wow, nagaalala ka na ulit saakin?” Jorwyn teased, lifting her wrist lazily. The charred cloth dangled, singed all the way through. She made no effort to hide it.

Avalora’s fingers brushed the ruined fabric aside, her eyes narrowing as she inspected the skin beneath. 

There was nothing, a blister, nor redness, not even the faint sheen of heat. 

Perfect.

Avalora’s breath caught. She knew what she had seen a few seconds ago. Flames had licked across the silky wrist. She had seen the way Jorwyn winced, showcasing the fleeting flash of pain. 

She believes that no one walked away from that untouched. 

No one.

“Parang okay naman Ava eh,” Jorwyn said, voice light, but her gaze slid just off-center, refusing to meet Avalora’s eyes.

Avalora’s gaze lingered on the wrist longer than it should have. 

A shiver crawled up her spine, uninvited. She had seen burns in every stage—charred, blistered, faint as a sun-kiss—and none of them simply vanished. The thought coiled darkly in her chest: Pyrokinetic. That has to be it.

Her arms prickled with goosebumps despite the heat still rolling from the stove. What unsettled her was not just the impossibility of it but the fact that she cared. The idea of Jorwyn standing there, all fire and recklessness, was not just terrifying but magnetic.

Frustration flared in her stomach. Why her? Why now?

Avalora tore her eyes away, schooling her face into calm neutrality before Jorwyn noticed. But her fingers betrayed her, twitching like they wanted to reach out, to test the skin again, to prove herself wrong. “Next time, maybe leave the stove to someone else.” 

Jorwyn tugged her hand back, smirking as if Avalora’s concern was just another game. “Don’t worry, Ava. I’m not planning to set the whole station on fire. Relax ka lang diyan.”

Avalora did not return the smile. She tucked her clipboard against her side, masking her thoughts with a calm she did not feel. “You should be more careful. Fire doesn’t forgive carelessness.” Her tone was light, but her eyes lingered a second too long on Jorwyn’s unmarked skin.

She turned and left without another word, but in her chest, the theory burned brighter. 

Jorwyn Robles was not just reckless. Ultimately, she was not just lucky. There was something else, and Avalora was determined to find out what it was.

When Avalora left the room, Jorwyn felt the edges of her mask pinch, not because of the scolding, but because Avalora’s voice carried something else. Something sharp, almost trembling beneath its steadiness.

And though Jorwyn only smirked, tilting her head like she had the upper hand, a single thought kept threading its way through her mind: She saw more than I wanted her to.

After the lockdown was lifted, BlueSent finally allowed its responders to resume rescue operations. The pause during the peak of the virus had been necessary not just to protect responders from infection, but because incidents requiring massive intervention had all but vanished. At the same time, people were confined to their homes.

Now, with restrictions eased, the air inside the cafeteria felt charged. Members of 3DS, VARL, and SCAR were packed around tables, halfway through a noisy joint lunch, when the shrill dispatch alarm cut through the chatter. Instantly, benches scraped back, trays clattered, and every responder jumped to their feet.

Jorwyn, in particular, practically launched out of her seat. The familiar rush—the edge between danger and adrenaline—lit up her face like a child handed a brand-new toy.

“Wow, sobrang excited ba ’tong masugatan ulit?” Solana quipped, shaking her head as she shouldered her medic bag.

“Tagal na rin niyang di nakaramdam ng sakit!” Garnet chimed in, her grin teasing but tinged with concern.

“Robles, get inside the truck now,” Norelle barked, sliding effortlessly back into the commanding tone of Captain.

“Is that dumbass really thrilled?” Avalora murmured under her breath, lips pursed as she adjusted her gloves, watching Jorwyn practically bounce on her heels before clambering into the rescue truck.

“‘Di yan,” Selene answered, even though Avalora had not really expected anyone to reply. “Lowe said she’s always like that. Para lang daw warm-up.”

“Akala ko naman kating-kati na talaga sa mission,” Maerith laughed nervously. “Though it’s been a while rin since VARL’s last fire rescue, kaya siguro hyped siya.”

When they arrived at the scene, acrid smoke already clouded the street. The fire raged inside a factory, shooting sparks like furious fireworks. The scene coordinator rushed toward VARL.

“This is a firecracker factory,” he explained, his voice tight. “There are plenty of explosives still inside. We need entry, but it’s going to be hell.”

No matter what the revelation was, VARL still convened fast. Two people were trapped inside, both in perilous locations, and flames had already swallowed every exit.

“Lim, you pull back the second it looks impossible,” Norelle ordered firmly. “We’re not gambling with your lives.”

Her gaze then locked on Jorwyn. She gripped her shoulders, her voice cutting sharper than the alarms wailing around them.

“Ro—Jorwyn, listen to me. If Lowe says get out, you get out. Maliwanag ba?”

Jorwyn opened her mouth to argue as it was practically against her mantra to leave without the victims, but then felt Garnet’s hand tighten on her wrist and Marlowe’s palm on her shoulder. Both of them stared at her with that unspoken Please don’t be reckless look .  

For once, Jorwyn swallowed her stubbornness.

“I will. Don’t worry, guys,” she said, softer than expected.

“Good,” Norelle said, though her frown did not ease.

Moments later, VARL’s inferno diver duo plunged into the beastly blaze. Outside, hoses hissed as 3DS doused the entrance. SCAR’s paramedics set up a triage area in the safest location near their ambulance.

“Shit, sana maging okay sila,” Selene muttered, white-knuckled around her gauze rolls.

“Jorwyn, wag kang tatanga-tanga please!” Solana shouted uselessly, as if sheer volume could reach her.

Avalora stayed silent, her jaw set tight, but her eyes never left the building’s silhouette. Every second Jorwyn remained inside, the coil in her chest. She would never admit it aloud, but she was bracing herself to storm in, to break every rule she had sworn to follow, if she sensed Jorwyn was in trouble. 

She hated herself for it, hated the fear clawing up her throat.

Inside, the heat hit Marlowe instantly. Sweat poured beneath her mask, her breath loud against her tank. She faltered in the middle of the search, the heavy gear slowing her pace.

“Lowe, get out na—I’ll handle this!” Jorwyn barked, noticing her hesitation.

“I won’t do that, stupid!” Marlowe snapped back, stubborn as ever. “Nor will kill me!”

But before either could argue more, a sudden boom rattled the walls. An explosion roared from the far side, the shockwave throwing both women across the floor. The ceiling groaned, part of it collapsing, causing Marlowe’s helmet to fly off across the room.

“Putangina Lowe!” Jorwyn cursed. She ripped off her own helmet and shoved it onto Marlowe’s head. Without hesitation, she hefted her unconscious partner over her shoulder and sprinted toward the exit.

Gasps and cries erupted outside when VARL stumbled through the smoke, Jorwyn carrying Marlowe.

“Fuck, akala ko di na kayo makakalabas!” Garnet’s voice cracked, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“Lowe, wake up! Please!” Selene frantically slapped Marlowe’s cheek, her panic raw.

Norelle spotted Jorwyn bare-headed and staggered. “Your helmet—where the hell—”

“Impact threw hers away. She’s wearing mine.” Jorwyn’s explanation came out rough, her chest heaving.

“You escaped breathing all those chemicals without a mask?” Avalora’s voice finally broke in, sharp with disbelief. She was bent over Marlowe, pumping her chest, but her glare pierced Jorwyn.

“I guess it was adrenaline,” Norelle cut in quickly. “Jor—get checked—” she began, but her words cut short as Jorwyn bolted back toward the ablazed building. “Where the fuck are you going?!”

“I still have people to save.” She did not look back.

“Damn it, I told you we should have tied her to the truck!” Avalora snapped, rage boiling over as she tried not to lose rhythm on Marlowe’s chest compressions.

Minutes dragged, but SCAR had successfully fought to keep Marlowe conscious. 

Avalora trembled, fury rising every time she imagined Jorwyn still inside. She was not just worried because she was furious, at Jorwyn, at herself, at how helpless she felt.

Inside again, Jorwyn pressed forward, her boots pounding against cracked concrete as smoke clawed at her lungs. Heat licked every corner, fire eating its way up walls and across ceilings. Every breath tasted like ash.

She forced through a sagging doorway and finally found them—two men huddled in the far corner, one shielding the other with his own body. Both were trembling, half-conscious, their skin slick with soot and sweat.

“Dito! Tara na!” Jorwyn barked, urgency cutting through the roar of fire. She hauled them up with iron steadiness, her protective blanket wrapping around their shoulders. The air stung with embers, the ceiling groaned above, but she pushed them forward, step by step, toward the exit.

Another explosion cracked the foundation. The walls shuddered and beams screamed as they split loose from the ceiling.

Jorwyn shoved the pair through the doorway with every ounce of her strength. “Go! Lumabas na kayo!”

The men stumbled into the arms of Solana and Garnet waiting outside, but before Jorwyn could follow, the structure convulsed one last time.

The ceiling gave way.

“JORWYN!” Solana’s scream split the night as the building folded inward, flame and dust consuming the doorway. Garnet dropped to her knees, horror flooding her face. Avalora’s own cry tore raw from her throat, her hands trembling uselessly at her sides.

The world held still while the heat blasted outward, debris collapsing like thunder. For one long, breathless moment, there was no sign of her.

And then through the haze of flame, something shifted. A figure staggered into view, moving against the impossible. Limbs trembling, suit scorched black, Jorwyn pushed through the fire as if it had not touched her. Smoke curled around her, heat warping the air, but her body endured where no one else could have survived.

Her helmet cracked, causing her lip to split, but her eyes burned steady through the mask of ash. She limped forward, dragging one ruined leg, every step a defiance of the fire trying to keep her down.

The team erupted as Solana sobbed openly, Garnet clapping a hand over her mouth in disbelief. Avalora surged forward before she could stop herself, reaching the edge of the danger zone with her heart in her throat.

Jorwyn emerged at last, staggering free from the blaze, alive against all reason. She ripped her helmet off, coughing once, then straightened, shoulders squared despite the ruin of her gear.

Avalora’s breath hitched, eyes burning. No one should have survived that, not like this. Not walking.

And in the silence that followed, the thought rooted sharp in her chest: What are you, Jorwyn?

“How—how in the hell?” Norelle choked, racing forward to crush her in a hug.

The relief rippled through everyone. 

Until Avalora stormed up, fury sparking brighter than the fire. Her hands went straight to Jorwyn’s now almost ruined suit, unzipping it furiously. When she found no burns, no wounds, but just a thin slice of blood on her upper lip, her anger snapped.

“You really are a jerk!” Avalora shouted, pounding her fist against Jorwyn’s chest. “ Bakit kailangan mong gawin ’yon?! Why do you always have to—”

“Hey, I’m okay,” Jorwyn soothed, raising her hands. “Ito lang oh—” she pointed at her lip. “Liit na sugat lang, nothing serious.”

“How—how is that possible?” Maerith demanded, staring at her unscathed body. “We saw you under the debris! Walang paso at ganyan lang ang sugat?!”

Jorwyn smirked faintly, spinning her lie with practiced ease. “Everybody, calm down, it’s the suit. New upgrade kaya to para saamin.” She says, flaunting the suit like she's an online streamer selling it. 

“Tear-free–though it's now ruined. Fire-resistant and has airbag tech inside. It absorbed everything. Helmet’s the only weak spot, that’s why I got nicked.”

Nobody fully bought it, but no one pushed further. They just nodded, and some relief returned—everyone, except Avalora.

Her gaze bored into Jorwyn like she could peel away the excuse. 

“How’s Marlowe?” Jorwyn asked, suddenly frantic, trying to see past Avalora’s shoulder.

“I hate you,” Avalora whispered, voice trembling as her fists hit Jorwyn’s chest one last time before she shoved away, retreating to the survivors instead. Her back was stiff, her hands shaking as she steadied a burned man’s breathing.

“Dude, you scared us,” Norelle muttered, hugging Jorwyn again.

Solana tossed a bottle of water toward Jorwyn, who caught it one-handed. “You know, Jor, minsan iniisip ko parang weird ka. Ikaw lang yung laging mabilis maka-recover.”

Maerith, half-distracted by her notes, added without looking up, “Yeah. You’re never down for long. Even when the rest of your crew are wrecked, you’re up like nothing happened.”

Garnet chuckled, shaking her head. “Super stamina. Para kang—” She cut herself off with a grin, waving a hand. “Never mind. Basta, ingat ka palagi at huwag matigas ang ulo.”

Jorwyn only smirked, twisting the cap off her bottle. “Maybe I’m just built better.” Her tone was light, careless. But the way Avalora’s eyes flicked toward her, sharp and unreadable, made her throat tighten for a split second.

“Better fix that one. Di pa nga kayo bati, ginalit mo pa lalo.” Maerith said under her breath, jerking her chin at Avalora’s retreating figure. “She’s not gonna forgive you easily.”

But Jorwyn stayed rooted in place. She could only stare at Avalora’s back—rigid, furious, unyielding—and wonder if the fire she had just walked out of was any easier to survive than the one Avalora lit in her chest.

The fire was finally under control by the time night bled into the horizon. The factory was reduced to a husk, black smoke curling into the stars. 

The two survivors were stabilized and transported to the nearest hospital. Marlowe, though unconscious, was breathing steadily thanks to SCAR’s intervention.

The adrenaline had burned off, leaving exhaustion heavy in everyone’s bones. Crews began winding hoses, packing equipment, and logging incident reports. The air smelled of char, sweat, and metal.

Jorwyn sat on the back of the VARL truck, helmetless, still streaked with soot. Her arms dangled loosely, but her mind was not calm. Her gaze kept drifting to where Avalora crouched beside the ambulance, quietly cleaning her tools, her movements sharp, deliberate. Every so often, her shoulders trembled, but her face stayed hidden, turned away.

Norelle passed by and paused. “You should sit inside, Robles. Medical wants to clear you for smoke inhalation.”

“I’m fine,” Jorwyn muttered.

“Don’t be stubborn. Just—” Norelle hesitated, eyes flicking toward Avalora. “She’s angrier than I have ever seen her. Fix it before it festers.”

Jorwyn swallowed hard but stayed put.

Inside the ambulance, Solana leaned against the wall, bandaging her own scraped knuckles. Her sharp gaze followed Avalora, then shifted toward the silent figure of Jorwyn outside. A slow grin tugged her lips.

“You were losing your shit when she disappeared into that fire,” she said lazily.

Avalora froze mid-motion, disinfectant-soaked gauze pressed against a clamp. “Pinagsasabi mo?”

“Don’t play dumb, Ava. You screamed her name like she was gonna combust and turn into ashes if you don't hit 120 decibels.” Solana smirked. “Tapos ngayon, you’re sulking like a jilted girlfriend.”

Avalora’s grip tightened, the gauze tearing. “Kainis, she’s so reckless. That is all. Kung ayaw niya makinig, then fine. Let her burn herself to death.”

But her voice cracked on the last words, and she knew the other caught it. Solana’s grin widened, but she did not push. She just leaned back, humming smugly.

Avalora shoved the tray closed and stood abruptly. “I’m checking on Lowe.”

“Sige lang,” Solana said, her tone dripping with amusement.

Later, during the debrief, Avalora spoke barely a word. She answered questions sharply, kept her eyes fixed on the reports, and did not once look at Jorwyn.

When the briefing ended, teams were dismissed with orders to rest. As Avalora slung her bag over her shoulder, Jorwyn stepped forward, hesitant.

“Ava—”

Avalora brushed past without a word.

Jorwyn exhaled, frustration gnawing at her.

Avalora did not sleep well that night. She tossed on her cot, staring at the ceiling, replaying every impossible detail she had seen since the lockdown.

The kitchen fire, Jorwyn’s handkerchief catching flame, but her skin beneath was left unburnt.

The way she walked through the smoke was as if it were ordinary air. 

The heat waves seemed to ripple around her when she was angry or desperate.

Avalora pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead, frustrated. Hindi pwede. Impossible. Walang tao na ganun.

And yet, her mind kept circling back.

What if she is? What if Jorwyn is… pyrokinetic?

Her stomach knotted at the thought. A firefighter who could create fire? Or at least survive it? That was not just dangerous, but unthinkable, and it explained too much.

Avalora turned over, hugging her pillow tight. The rational part of her warned not to dwell on it, not without proof. But the other part, the part that had screamed her name in the blaze, whispered that maybe she did not want to expose Jorwyn. Perhaps she just wanted to understand her.

The next day, SCAR and VARL were called for another joint vaccination mission in a barangay still struggling with the outbreak. Typically, partners were determined already, but this time, Jorwyn volunteered immediately.

“Put me with Solana again,” she said before anyone else could speak.

The room fell silent for a beat. Avalora, standing with her arms crossed, blinked in surprise. She did not show it, but the move had pierced her.

“Ikaw bahala,” Norelle approved quickly, too tired to question it.

Avalora’s jaw clenched.

Hours later, the teams worked under the scorching sun, guiding residents into orderly lines, calming anxious parents, disinfecting stations, and moving swiftly through the protocols. Avalora’s focus was sharp, but her mind was not calm. Every time her eyes caught Jorwyn’s figure moving easily beside Solana, her chest tightened.

During a water break, she finally cornered her.

“Solana na naman,” Avalora said, her voice low, controlled, but laced with accusation.

Jorwyn blinked at her. “Oh, ngayon?”

“Why?”

Jorwyn hesitated, then rubbed the back of her neck. “I thought… maybe some distance would help, after yesterday.”

“Distance,” Avalora repeated flatly.

“You’re mad at me. And honestly, I don’t understand why. I was just doing my job, Ava.”

Avalora’s hands curled at her sides. “Your job doesn’t mean you get to throw your life away.”

Jorwyn frowned. “I wasn’t throwing it away. I—” She stopped, confused by the heat in Avalora’s voice.

“Bahala ka sa buhay mo,” Avalora snapped, cutting her off before her tongue slipped further. She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Jorwyn staring after her, more tangled than ever.

The ride home was a storm waiting to break.

Jorwyn drove, her jaw locked tight on the wheel. Solana sat shotgun now, humming quietly, sipping from her water bottle. Avalora sat in the back, arms folded, face angled toward the window, silent as stone.

The tension was so thick that it was almost choking.

Halfway back, Solana broke it with a low chuckle. “Wow. Parang nanalo ako sa raffle ah. VIP seat between two thunderclouds.”

Neither Jorwyn nor Avalora reacted.

“Fine,” Solana smirked. “Pero babe, careful. Yung tao sa likod mo? I think she’s plotting your murder.”

Avalora’s glare in the rearview mirror was sharp enough to cut steel. Jorwyn glanced at it, felt her stomach twist, then quickly looked back at the road.

The silence stretched again until Avalora spoke, her voice cold. “Next time, don’t expect me to patch you up if you keep being suicidal.”

The words landed heavily.

Jorwyn gripped the wheel tighter, swallowing hard. Solana raised her brows but stayed quiet for once.

When they finally reached the condo building, Avalora yanked the door open and slipped out without a word. Solana whistled low, watching her go.

“Well,” she said, leaning back in her seat. “She cares more than she admits.”

Jorwyn did not answer. She stared after Avalora until the door shut behind her, chest burning in ways she did not understand.

The next day, Jorwyn made herself scarce.

If Avalora entered the mess hall, she found an excuse to leave early. If Avalora checked the inventory, Jorwyn volunteered for outside patrol. On the vaccination mission, she stayed glued to Solana or Selene, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

It did not go unnoticed.

During a short break in the supply tent, Garnet crossed her arms and squinted at Jorwyn. “You’ve been running around like a headless chicken just to avoid one person. Napaka-obvious mo Jorwyn.”

“I’m not avoiding anyone,” Jorwyn muttered, tugging her gloves tighter.

“Sinungaling,” Selene cut in smoothly, leaning against the table. “You and Avalora haven’t spoken properly since the fire. That silence is louder than a siren.”

Jorwyn stiffened. “She’s mad at me. I thought giving her space would—”

“Would what?” Garnet pressed. “Fix it magically? Hay naku, Jorwyn. If you wait for her to move first, you’ll be waiting forever.”

Selene’s gaze softened, but her tone stayed firm. “You see, Ava’s really stubborn. If you don’t step up, she won’t either. You will both rot in that stalemate.”

Jorwyn looked down, jaw tight. Their words hit hard because they were true. She could feel the gap between her and Avalora widening with every passing hour.

“But I don’t even know what I did wrong,” she admitted quietly, almost to herself.

“Then ask her,” Garnet said simply, uncrossing her arms. “And this time, don’t run.”

Jorwyn stayed silent, staring at her boots. The image of Avalora’s face, shadowed in the firelight, flashed behind her eyes again. The crack in her voice when she had shouted her name. The bitterness laced with something else when she spat, ‘Don’t expect me to patch you up.’

Her chest ached.

Meanwhile, Avalora lingered by the trucks, writing in her medical log, but her pen had stopped moving. Her mind kept circling the same dangerous thought:

If she really is pyrokinetic… then what does that make her to me? A threat? Or—something I can’t bring myself to turn away from?

She bit her lip hard, shutting the notebook before anyone could see her hesitation written between the lines.

For the next few days, the fire station felt like it had been split in half.

Avalora moved through the halls with her clipboard clutched like armor, ticking off boxes, writing notes, her pen scratching loudly in the silence whenever Jorwyn was near. She refused to look at her longer than a second, refused to let her stare soften.

Jorwyn, meanwhile, perfected the art of pretending Avalora was not in the room. She joked with the other nurses, leaning against doorframes as if she owned the place, filling the air with her lazy grin and easy drawl. But every time Avalora passed, her eyes flicked sideways, just enough to catch the swing of her ponytail, the sharp line of her jaw when she was annoyed.

During one supply run, Avalora’s box slipped from her arms, and Jorwyn instinctively bent to grab it only for Avalora to snatch it back with a muttered, “I’ve got it.”

Jorwyn’s jaw clenched. “Suit yourself.”

Neither acknowledged the sparks, but both felt the burn.

The others continued to notice.

During lunch, Jorwyn slid into the seat across from Solana instead of her usual spot near Avalora. Selene raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Not even pretending anymore?”

Jorwyn shrugged, spearing her rice. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Avalora did not even look up. “Neither do I.”

But her pen dug into the page hard enough to nearly tear it.

“Okay, sino ba talaga galit sa inyo?” Solana asked, eyes darting between them as she bit into a rice ball. “Para kayong mag-ex. ‘Di nag-uusap pero parehong bitter.”

Avalora nearly choked on her water. “We are not—”

“Magkatrabaho lang kami,” Jorwyn cut in quickly, stabbing at her food without looking up. “Workmates fight sometimes.”

“Workmates don’t look like they’re plotting each other’s funeral,” Selene muttered dryly, earning a snicker from Garnet.

Avalora’s pen tapped sharply against her clipboard. “If she’d stop acting like a reckless idiot, maybe I would not have to nag.”

Jorwyn’s head snapped up, grin sharp. “Reckless? Ikaw kaya yung mahilig mangialam. You don’t even work with fire, Ava. Stay in your lane.”

Avalora’s eyes flashed. “My lane is keeping people alive. If you burn yourself to death, it’s still my problem.”

The table went uncomfortably quiet. Solana stuffed another bite in her mouth and muttered, “...yeah, this is worse than exes.”

Jorwyn leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, forcing a laugh that rang hollow. “See? This is why I avoid you. I can’t even breathe without you calling me reckless.”

Avalora looked away, cheeks hot. Her throat burned with the words she almost said—that she was not angry because of recklessness, she was furious because she had seen something she could not explain, and it scared her how much she cared.

But instead, she bit down hard and muttered, “Then maybe you should keep avoiding me.”

That one landed heavier than either of them wanted.

Jorwyn froze. Her mouth worked like she had a retort lined up, but none came out. Instead, she shoved her tray away, muttering, “Fine,” and walked off.

Avalora kept her eyes on her clipboard, but her hand trembled against the paper.

The distance was sharpest at night, when Avalora lingered in the quiet of the infirmary, half-expecting Jorwyn to show up with her restless pacing and half-smiles. But she did not, and the absence left the air too heavy, too quiet. 

She told herself she was just theorizing—clinical, detached. Jorwyn’s reaction time, the way the flames had not touched her skin, the inexplicable calm. It all pointed to something abnormal. 

Something dangerous.

And yet every time she sharpened that thought into accusation, it dulled under the memory of Jorwyn’s grin. The way she had stood there in the kitchen, smoke curling around her, eyes glinting like she had already won some unspoken game.

Meanwhile, Jorwyn found excuses to stay outside, leaning against the truck under the glow of the station lights. She told herself it was better this way—that Avalora was furious, suspicious, dangerous to her secret. But her chest ached with the memory of Ava’s almost-confession in the truck days ago, and she could not stop replaying it.

Finally, it was Solana who cracked.

“You’re pathetic,” she told Jorwyn bluntly as they loaded supplies one morning.

Jorwyn blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You. Ava. Whatever this 'cold war' thing is. It’s making everyone miserable.” Solana hefted a box and jabbed her elbow into Jorwyn’s side. “If you don’t fix it, she won’t. And if she doesn’t, it’ll never be fixed.”

Jorwyn scoffed, masking the knot in her throat. “She doesn’t want it fixed.”

“Bullshit,” Solana snapped, sharp enough to sting. “You think I don’t see how she looks at you? She’s not ignoring you because she hates you. She’s ignoring you because she doesn’t know how not to.”

Jorwyn froze, her throat going dry. Solana walked off with her box, leaving her standing by the truck, hands clenched tight at her sides.

The station’s mess hall was louder than usual that evening, but the noise could not hide the undercurrent. Everyone felt it—the tension that seemed to crackle more deafening than the clatter of spoons against plates.

Avalora sat stiffly at the far end of the table, flipping through her clipboard as if she were auditing the rice and adobo. Jorwyn lounged across from her, chair tipped back, balancing a fork on one finger with exaggerated ease.

Every few seconds, their eyes cut toward each other. Sharp and quick, but both are looking away too fast.

Solana muttered, “Here we go again,” under her breath, earning a knowing sigh from Selene.

It broke when someone dropped a pitcher of water. The spill raced across the table. Avalora was the first to stand, snapping for towels, efficient as always. Jorwyn moved too—only faster, snatching the pitcher before it could shatter on the floor.

For one heartbeat, they were face-to-face. Close. Too close.

And then—

“Do you have to act like a hero all the time?” Avalora snapped, sharper than she intended. Her hands trembled slightly against the towel.

Jorwyn’s smirk faltered. “I’m sorry for trying to help. I didn’t realize your clipboard had it handled.”

A couple of the younger crew froze mid-bite. Even the air seemed to hesitate.

Avalora’s jaw set. “You think everything’s a joke, don’t you? Fire drills, spills—what’s next, Jorwyn? Going to laugh through an actual emergency?”

Jorwyn’s chair legs hit the ground with a thud. “At least I don’t freeze up when things get real.”

The words landed like a slap. Avalora’s breath caught, her fingers curling white around the damp towel. For a split second, hurt flashed across her face—raw and unguarded.

Silence fell heavily, and nobody moved.

“Wow,” Solana muttered finally, breaking the stillness. Her voice was tight. “Real smooth, Jor.”

Jorwyn’s chest tightened instantly with regret, but she did not take it back. She could not anymore as her pride held her tongue. She only stood, jaw clenched, and dropped the rescued pitcher back onto the counter with a hollow clink.

Avalora turned away, gathering the towels, her shoulders stiff as armor. “Thanks for proving my point,” she said quietly.

And then she was gone, disappearing down the hall without looking back.

The rest of the team sat in silence, the air thick and suffocating.

Jorwyn stared at the doorway through which Avalora had vanished, her chest twisting painfully. She wanted to follow and tried to fix things between them, but instead, she ran a hand through her hair, muttered something that sounded like a curse, and stalked out the opposite way.

Leaving the mess hall colder than it had been all night.

Solana let out a long breath, rubbing her temple. “They can’t keep this up.”

Selene’s gaze lingered on the door, her expression grim. “They won’t have a choice. Next mission pairs them up.”

The table stayed quiet after that, no one daring to say what they were all thinking.

Tomorrow would force the issue.

Chapter Text

A few days ago, the assembly hall vibrated with restless energy, the air thick with the heat of anticipation. Firefighters, medics, and rescuers sat in precise rows, their whispers dying as Commanding Officer Reyes strode to the podium.

Her gaze swept the room like a blade. 

Silence fell.

Avalora felt it cut across her shoulders. She stiffened, refusing to bow under it. 

“You know what lies ahead,” Reyes said, voice sharp as steel. “Next week, we begin The Twin Flame Accord. It is not a parade, nor a game. It is a crucible.”

Avalora’s breath caught. Crucible. Fire, pressure, and survival through suffering. Her pulse kicked higher, a mix of dread and thrill tightening in her chest.

Jorwyn’s jaw flexed at the word. She hated how it resonated too close to the truth of their work, too close to the memories she buried deep. Crucible meant breaking or becoming unbreakable.

“The Accord was founded by a pair of firefighters and a pair of paramedics,” Reyes pressed on. “They proved the strongest bonds are forged in trust, unity, and sacrifice. That is the legacy we honor. And let me remind you—the world is watching.”

A low whistle cracked the silence. It was Eon. Win’s elbow silenced him, drawing a ripple of laughter that died quickly.

Avalora almost smiled, but her eyes slid toward Jorwyn—unbidden. The woman appeared rigid, unreadable as stone. Avalora’s chest tightened. If fate paired them, would their fire forge something more substantial? Or consume them both?

Jorwyn’s gaze flicked forward, catching Avalora’s profile for the briefest second. Tension rolled through her stomach like smoke. The idea of being tied to Avalora in this crucible—was it the worst outcome? Or the one she feared because she already knew what it would ignite?

“Each duo will face a simulation,” Reyes continued. “It is a crisis in chaos. You will be put in an unforgiving terrain, and every hesitation will cost you.”

Avalora pressed her palms flat against her thighs, grounding herself. She could not afford hesitation—not in the field, not in front of Jorwyn. Especially not if Jorwyn saw her falter.

“The prize,” Reyes said, her voice rising, “is more than medals. It is a priority promotion, offering the opportunity to expand your units. More hands pulling survivors from the fire and more importantly, more lives saved.”

Avalora’s chest swelled, a knot of pride and longing. Lives saved. That was why she was here.

Jorwyn’s throat worked, though she kept her face carved from stone. She knew what it meant—more boots on the ground, fewer calls that stretched them thin, fewer bodies slipping through their fingers. 

It was not about glory. It was about less loss.

“And your names will be etched onto the Twin Flame Wall,” Reyes finished, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “The wall does not fade. It does not forget.”

A murmur rippled through the hall. “Twin Flames,” someone whispered, reverent.

Avalora’s heart hammered—a bond sealed in fire, branded for life.

Jorwyn’s pulse surged, hot and unwanted—a binding she could not choose.

Reyes’s gaze swept over them one last time. “You will not choose your partners. They are chosen for you. Some of you will be called, while others will not. That has always been the way of the Accord.”

Avalora swallowed hard, her throat dry, and Jorwyn clenched her fists behind her back, nails biting her palms.

Neither spoke. Neither looked at the other, but both felt the same truth burn through their veins that if the Accord tied them together, it wouldn’t just be a crucible because it would be fire.

A murmur rippled across the room. Avalora crossed her arms, already dreading what was coming.

Commander Reyes' eyes swept the list before she read it aloud; each pairing met with cheers, groans, or quiet acceptance. When she reached the end, she paused just long enough for tension to coil tight.

“VARL’s Jorwyn Robles. SCAR’s Avalora Arceta.”

The room erupted—half in laughter, half in disbelief—a ripple of murmurs spread like wildfire through the mess hall.

“Sabi ko na nga ba,” someone whispered from the back.

“Those two? That’s fire and gasoline,” another muttered, half in awe, half in doubt.

Avalora’s jaw clenched, heat crawling up her neck. Of all the names in this hall, why hers with Jorwyn’s? The sting was not just from the pairing—it was from the eyes. Every gaze was a weight, pressing down, reminding her of the whispers she had fought so hard to outrun.

Jorwyn’s smirk sharpened, blade-bright. Let them talk. If they wanted fire and gasoline, she would give them a blaze. She leaned back in her chair, lazy posture hiding the flicker of unease twisting low in her gut.

“Of course,” Solana muttered behind Avalora, loud enough to slice through her thoughts. “Best medic, worst patient. What could go wrong?”

Avalora’s fists curled tighter. She did not need Solana’s commentary to know half the room doubted her.

Commander Reyes was not finished. Her gaze locked on the two women, tone carrying the weight of authority.

“Robles, you’ve got stamina no one else can match, but your recklessness always nearly costs your own life. Arceta, your precision is unmatched, but you’re under scrutiny following complaints about your approach. This pairing is not punishment—it’s a test. You balance each other. You prove yourselves here, and those rumors die. You fail? You won’t just lose the trophy—you’ll lose the trust we’ve given you.”

The mess hall went quiet, and all eyes slid to Avalora and Jorwyn.

Avalora felt the words like a blade pressed against her throat. Rumors. Always rumors. She forced her chin higher, even as heat flushed her skin. If this were the test, she would not bend.

Jorwyn tilted her head, letting the silence stretch. The air felt thick with eyes, but she let her helmet fall onto the table with a careless thud. Her grin was easy, practiced. Inside, though, the sting of recklessness burned deeper than she would show.

“Guess we’re stuck with each other, Ava,” Jorwyn drawled, tugging her gloves tighter. Her grin was all teeth, but her eyes betrayed nothing.

Avalora’s glare could have cut steel. “Don’t you dare slow me down, Jerkwyn.”

The nickname slid under Jorwyn’s skin, sharper than Avalora would ever know. But Jorwyn only smirked wider, leaning into the game. “And don’t you dare freeze.”

The hall held its breath, caught between laughter and tension, as fire met steel and everyone knew the sparks were only just beginning.

As much as their setup should have ruined their performance—only the two of them were there, where there should have been eight—neither could stomach the thought of letting the other down.

Pride was sharper than the flames.

The simulation this year was crueler than ever. Their own crewmates played the role of the victims, deliberately drugged with a harmless substance that rendered them limp, their weight as heavy and unyielding as the real unconscious. 

The setting: a subway train derailed by sabotage, its first car ablaze, its rear cars trembling on the brink of collapse. Six people were trapped, and only ten minutes before the explosion.

As expected of the quick and determined Jorwyn, she did not waste time. Her boots pounded the scorched floor as she barreled into the third car, the air choked with smoke. 

In less than five minutes, she had hauled four bodies out—Marlowe slung over one shoulder, Maerith over the other, the impossible weight dragging at her spine. But she did not stumble. Did not break stride.

Avalora was already kneeling by the injured, movements precise and fast. Compressing, stabilizing, and bringing her teammates back from the induced unconsciousness with every trick in her medical arsenal. 

Sweat streaked down her face, her braid clinging damp against her neck. Her pulse thundered, not just from the work, but from the awareness that Jorwyn was inside those burning cars again.

“Dalawa na lang,” Jorwyn barked, voice hoarse from the smoke.

That is when they heard it—a choked cry from the fourth car. Solana—pinned beneath a twisted slab of train metal, crimson blooming across her abdomen.

Jorwyn skidded down beside her, instantly reaching for the wreckage. “Hang on, Sol, I got you—”

“Don’t you dare,” Avalora snapped, rushing in and catching Jorwyn’s wrist mid-motion. “ If you lift that wrong, you’ll rip her open.”

Jorwyn clenched her jaw but gave a sharp nod. She crouched low, shielding Avalora from the furnace heat roaring from the first car.

“I will put pressure while you lift,” Avalora muttered, already pressing against the wound, blood slicking her gloves. Her voice trembled with urgency. “Do you think you can—”

“Don’t ask me if I can.” Jorwyn’s eyes burned like her namesake flame. “Just be ready.”

The metal was jagged, heavy, and its edges bit deep into her palms, even through the gloves. Jorwyn hissed, muscles straining, the weight pressing down like five men at once. The sting was sharp, insistent, but she did not flinch.

“Shit, hold still,” Avalora hissed, panic flickering in her chest. “You’ll shred your hands—”

“Ava, I can do it,” Jorwyn ground out. Sweat dripped from her jawline. “Unahin mo na muna si Sol, please.”

Avalora’s lips pressed into a thin, furious line. “I’m going to beat you up after this.” Her voice cracked despite the bite in it.

The metal screeched as Jorwyn heaved it upward, veins corded, blood blooming through her gloves. Avalora pulled Solana free in one fluid motion. The moment she gave the signal, Jorwyn let the chunk crash to the floor with a deafening clang .

They hauled Solana to safety, Avalora immediately dropping to her knees to staunch the bleeding. Beside her, Jorwyn shifted awkwardly, hiding the way her hands trembled, the raw sting making her vision pulse.

“Fuck—kamay pa, of all places,” Jorwyn muttered under her breath.

Avalora’s head snapped up. She saw the red seeping through torn gloves, the way Jorwyn was trying to tuck her hands away. Without hesitation, Avalora grabbed them.

“Ava, you don’t have to—” Jorwyn jerked back, alarmed in her eyes.

“Relax,” Avalora cut her off, voice firm but low. Her thumb brushed across Jorwyn’s bloodied knuckles, lingering longer than necessary. “We’re being watched.”

It was code. She would not expose herself, not here, not now. Jorwyn’s breath hitched, but she surrendered her hands anyway, letting Avalora patch her up.

Then Jorwyn felt it. A jolt, sharp as the cut itself. Her eyes snapped to Avalora’s.

I thought you said you wouldn’t.

Avalora’s gaze was steady, but the faintest wince crossed her features, her own fingers trembling as if she had taken on part of the pain herself.

I can’t help it, her eyes seemed to say.

Jorwyn’s chest tightened, something unspoken rising between them, drowned only by the roar of simulated fire.

Seven minutes in, all survivors were above ground. Their time was record-breaking, and it was faster than any other duo.

The announcement came booming over the speakers, “We have our winners of this year’s Twin Flame Accord.”

The crowd erupted in cheers, but Avalora and Jorwyn were not listening.

Avalora’s hands were still on Jorwyn’s, and Jorwyn’s gaze was still locked on hers. Both refusing to look away. Both knew this was not over.

Not by a long shot.

After the competition, everyone regrouped in the cafeteria-turned-hall, which shimmered under the overhead lights, rows of chairs filled with BlueSent officers in crisp uniforms. The air buzzed with chatter and bursts of laughter, but when the emcee’s voice rang out, the whole space seemed to pause.

“First place for this year’s Twin Flame Accord—Nurse Avalora Arceta and FO Jorwyn Robles!”

Applause erupted like a wave. Teammates pounded the tables, whistles cut through the air, and someone in the back shouted, “Power duo!” 

Avalora rose with deliberate precision, each movement clipped and disciplined. She needed the ritual to steady herself. Her chin lifted high, as though posture alone could protect her from the heat curling in her chest.

Jorwyn strode forward like she had been waiting her whole life for this spotlight. The crooked grin, the effortless swagger made the hall erupt louder, and she basked in it, letting the noise roll over her like armor.

The medals waited on velvet cushions.

“An unprecedented record,” the emcee continued, “seven minutes, all survivors intact, flawless coordination despite being only a two-man team. If that isn’t proof of synchronicity, I don’t know what is.”

Avalora’s jaw clenched. 

Synchronicity.  

The word echoed too loudly. Because yes, they had moved like one body inside the simulated inferno, but here, under the cheers and lights, she could not silence the thought of how dangerous that closeness had become.

One by one, they received their medals. Jorwyn saluted playfully, making the hall laugh, while Avalora bowed her head with crisp dignity. When she straightened, the microphone was suddenly in her hand, the emcee urging her forward.

“Avalora, would you like to say a few words?”

Her breath caught. She hated speeches, hated being vulnerable in front of so many eyes, but the expectant hush left her no room to retreat. She cleared her throat, her voice steady at first.

“This victory wasn’t mine alone. It was…” her eyes flicked, unwillingly, to Jorwyn—“…ours. Because no matter how much we…” She faltered, heat flooding her neck. Fight. Clash. Break each other apart. “…no matter the differences, what matters is that when it counts, we trust.”

Her voice cracked faintly on that last word, too raw, too close to what she refused to confess. She shoved the mic back at the emcee before she could betray herself further.

The applause resumed, thunderous and oblivious, but Jorwyn was not. Standing beside her, medal gleaming against her chest, she leaned close enough that Avalora felt the warmth of her breath.

“Trust, huh?” Jorwyn murmured, a low drawl that held something unreadable. And then, before Avalora could steel herself, Jorwyn’s hand brushed hers. Not a clumsy accident, but deliberate. It was brief but enough to spark awareness up her arm in full view of the cheering hall.

Avalora’s body locked, her fists itching to close, her throat too tight for words. The room kept clapping, the emcee moved on, and still that phantom touch lingered.

The crowd only saw two partners crowned champions, but Avalora knew what just passed between them was something far more dangerous than fire.

Avalora barely lasted through the closing remarks. The moment the applause dimmed, she slipped offstage, medal cold against her chest despite the heat in her skin. Her heels clicked too fast against the polished floor, carrying her toward the exit.

Trust, huh?

Jorwyn’s voice replayed in her head like smoke she could not wave away. And worse is that deliberate brush of fingers, shown in public and bold like Jorwyn had marked her before the entire damn BlueSent hall.

Avalora shoved through the crowd gathering near the buffet tables, muttering half-hearted excuses until the night air hit her lungs.

She did not even realize Jorwyn had followed until the taller woman leaned against the wall beside her, casual as though the touch had not just ripped Avalora’s composure to pieces.

“You looked like you were gonna faint back there,” Jorwyn said, hands shoved in her pockets, grin sharp under the streetlamp. “Don’t tell me speeches scare you more than fire.”

Avalora’s eyes snapped to her. “Don’t.”

“Don’t, ang ano na naman?” Jorwyn’s grin widened, though her eyes searched Avalora’s face like she was looking for cracks.

“Don’t act like—like that didn’t mean anything,” Avalora hissed. Her fingers dug into her medal’s ribbon. “You did that on purpose.”

For the first time, Jorwyn’s smirk faltered, her gaze flicking away. “Ano ka ba, Ava. The crowd loved it. It was just me giving them a show.”

“A show?” Avalora’s laugh came out too sharp. “Right. Because that’s all you are, isn’t it? Always playing to the crowd, making noise, pretending none of it matters.”

Jorwyn’s mouth opened, but Avalora cut her off, words spilling like knives.

“You treat everything like a joke. Missions, partners, me. You think flashing a grin and cracking a line makes you untouchable? Makes you better?”

“That’s not fair—”

“No, what’s not fair is that people still cheer for you even when you almost get yourself killed. They don’t see how reckless you are. They don’t see how—how empty it is. How empty you are.”

The words hit harder than she intended. Avalora realized too late she had gone too far, but it was already out. Silence fell, sharp as glass.

Jorwyn stood there, stiff, the grin gone. Her eyes flickered with something raw before she forced it down, shoulders squaring.

The main doors burst open just then, their teammates spilling into the night with trays of food and stolen bottles.

“Oooh, sakit nun ah,” Garnet muttered under their breath, not even trying to hide it. Norelle gave a low whistle.

“Damn, Arceta,” Marlowe said, half-laughing, half-uncomfortable. “Went straight for the jugular.”

The others chuckled uneasily, but all eyes flicked between Avalora and Jorwyn.

“Heto na sila mga kababayan! The golden duo!” Solana whooped, looping an arm around Maerith’s shoulders and dragging her forward like they were announcing royalty. Her voice was just a little too loud, like she meant to drown out the tension. “Seven minutes, flawless save—tell me that’s not history in the making!”

Maerith chuckled, quick to follow her lead. “I can’t believe teammates pa natin mga ‘to. They’ll be naming drills after you two.”

“Grabe namang record ‘yon,” Norelle chimed in, slinging an arm over Jorwyn’s shoulder. “Guess the judges weren’t kidding when they said twin flames. From now on, you’re basically stuck as partners.”

“Whole career, maybe,” Marlowe added with a wicked grin. “Better start getting used to each other’s temper, huh?”

The laughter rolled around them, light and merciless. Someone in the back shouted, “Just get married already!” which made the group howl louder.

Avalora’s ears burned, and she forced a thin smile, but inside, her pulse hammered. Stuck with Jorwyn for their entire career.

She did not dare glance at her partner, but she could feel the weight of Jorwyn’s stare. Hotter than fire and heavier than steel, and Avalora could not decide if she wanted to shove it away or fall into it.

The group cheered, the noise filling the space, but it could not quite erase the sting of Avalora’s words still hanging in the air. Jorwyn forced a grin and tipped an invisible hat, playing along for the crowd, but Solana’s sharp glance at Avalora said she had not missed a thing.

That same night, while everyone else was stuffing themselves with celebratory food because of the success of the Accord, Avalora had already slipped away. Her father wanted her home to celebrate her triumph with the family, and she gladly went—she could not stomach being Jorwyn the whole night after what she just blurted out earlier.

Back at the cafeteria, the rest of VARL and SCAR parked themselves in their usual corner, still blasting with laughter and praise for Jorwyn. The air was loud, with plates clattering and voices overlapping. But just a few tables away, another kind of noise simmered—one that quickly caught their attention.

“Show off na naman si Arceta,” one nurse muttered, loud enough to be overheard.

“She’s proudly flexing her cheating habang nakatingin pa bosses? Grabe, kapal.”

Selene was halfway to standing, rage flickering in her eyes, when Maerith’s hand shot out and gripped her wrist. “Sel, wag. Ava wouldn’t want you to go there.”

Selene clicked her tongue but sat back down, sending the nurses a glare sharp enough to cut.

“Jorwyn did all the work kanina,” another voice chimed in. “She literally carried Arceta while Arceta fake-treated her teammates. Like, sino ba nabiktima? Wala naman.”

“Eh si Jorwyn nga nagdugo yung kamay. Imagine carrying Arceta sa task, tapos nanalo sila as a duo? Labo.”

Norelle’s jaw tightened. Garnet and Marlowe both clenched their fists under the table. They could take it when Jorwyn was teased, but dragging Avalora down like this—lying about her—was crossing a line.

Then came the nail in the coffin.

“If Arceta ever gets lead nurse status, sigurado ako may strings na hinila tatay niya.” Halo’s voice, mocking.

“Exactly. Nepo baby, cheater, carried by Jorwyn—Accord’s prestige down the drain—”

SCREEEECH.

Everyone froze. The sound of a chair scraping back echoed through the cafeteria. Heads turned. Jorwyn was on her feet, eyes locked on the group of nurses.

“Jorwyn,” Norelle’s voice was sharp, warning, but Jorwyn did not flinch.

“Look at those pathetic losers talking.” Her voice cut across the cafeteria like a whip.

Gasps rippled and tensils paused midair.

“Jorwyn. Sit down. Now.” Norelle’s tone went cold, commanding.

Jorwyn spun to face her captain. Their eyes met, steel against steel. “Norelle… if it were me getting all this hate, you’d stand up for me.”

The table went silent. Norelle’s fingers twitched, but she did not move, and with that, Jorwyn turned back, striding straight toward the nurses’ table. She dropped into the empty seat beside Halo, the scrape of the chair making everyone tense.

She leaned forward, voice steady but dangerous. “What do y’all have against Ava?”

The nurses exchanged smug smiles, but Jorwyn’s stare burned holes through each of them.

“Jorie, your hand—let me see—” one tried to divert.

“What do y’all have against Ava?” she repeated, firmer this time.

The smirks faltered. One nurse finally spoke. “You’re really okay being paired with that cheater the rest of your career?”

Jorwyn’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Can’t you see? She’s fast, too fast. Her father’s friends with big names in the field—don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. Girl literally got the cheat sheet.”

Jorwyn leaned back, scoffing. “Don’t you think she’s just really good with her work?”

“No. Nandaraya siya,” another snapped.

“Do you even have proof?” Jorwyn’s voice sharpened. The silence that followed was deafening. “No? Thought so.”

“But her father—”

“Oh, come on.” Jorwyn’s gaze cut to the one who spoke. “Yara, isn’t your mom besties with the Chief nurse? Funny how you barely made it out of uni pero lead nurse ka na ngayon.”

Gasps and muffled snickers erupted from nearby tables.

“And you, ikaw na naman, Halo—anak ka rin ng high-ranking nurse, di ba?” Jorwyn tilted her head. “Selective memory kayo?”

The nurses stiffened.

“If you actually knew Ava, you’d see how hard she works. She’s the one throwing herself into danger just to help others. Connections? Cheating? Hindi niya kailangan nun. She bleeds for this work. She fights for it.”

Her chair screeched again as she stood, towering over them. “And besides—if she was really using her dad’s power, bakit hindi siya lead nurse ngayon gaya niyo, ha?”

No one answered.

“Exactly.” Jorwyn’s tone softened into mockery. “Try fixing your attitudes before running your mouths. Mga miss, walang cure sa inggit.”

With that, she walked back, leaving the nurses red-faced and stunned.

Back at their table, her teammates stared at her like she had just set off a bomb.

“After Ava literally tore into you earlier… You still defended her?” Solana asked, eyes wide. She scooted closer, hand rubbing Jorwyn’s back.

“For real,” Selene muttered. “Pero I was this close to breaking free from Maerith’s grip, ako na dapat magiging defender ni Ava eh.” She shot her lead with a side-eye.

Maerith threw her hands up in surrender. “Fine! I wasn’t gonna let them run their mouths either. Just… not in front of the whole cafeteria.”

The table erupted into half-laughter, half-exasperation, while Jorwyn only sighed and shook her head, pretending like her heart was not still racing.

Norelle exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face. “You three nearly gave me a heart attack. If one more word came out of your mouths, baka kayong tatlo na yung sinabunutan ko, not those nurses.”

Selene grinned despite the scolding. “Worth it though. Did you see their faces? Parang binuhusan ng malamig na tubig.”

Marlowe leaned forward, lowering her voice. “But Jor… you really didn’t have to. Ava’s not even here to hear it.”

Jorwyn froze at that, spoon hovering mid-air. She forced out a chuckle. “Yeah, well… hindi naman para sa kanya. I just hate unfair crap like that.”

“Unfair?” Garnet raised a brow. “You mean, you hate her getting dragged. Be honest.”

The table went unusually quiet after that jab; everyone was sneaking glances at Jorwyn, waiting for her reaction.

Jorwyn, however, kept her eyes glued to her plate, poking at her rice like it had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the world. “Believe whatever you want,” she muttered, her voice a little too tight.

Solana softened, nudging her shoulder. “Hey. No one’s judging you, babygirl. Kahit si Ava pa yan, for sure she’ll appreciate it. You did well.”

But Jorwyn did not answer, only chewing slowly, her throat bobbing like every word she wanted to say got swallowed back down.

The cafeteria erupted with conversations again, as other units returned to their own discussions. Still, the VARL-SCAR table lingered in that strange quiet—the kind where everyone pretends to move on, but every glance says we know.

That same night, Avalora sat in her family’s dining hall, a plate of untouched food in front of her. Her father was all smiles, pouring her another glass of wine.

“You’ve done well, anak,” he said proudly. “The Accord is not an easy victory, but you have proven yourself.”

Avalora forced a smile, bowing her head in gratitude, but inside she felt hollow. Every toast, every clap on the shoulder from her relatives seemed to clang against the bitter echo of Jorwyn’s voice in her memory. The sharpness of her words earlier still stung, replaying in her head like a wound she could not stop pressing.

She nodded, said all the right things, laughed at her father’s jokes, but her chest tightened each time she caught her reflection in the wine glass—smiling on the surface, aching beneath.

I couldn’t stomach being Jorwyn tonight… not after what I said, not after how I hurt her.

Her father’s hand on her shoulder pulled her back. “You should be proud, Avalora. This triumph will be remembered.”

“Of course, Papa,” she replied, voice smooth but distant.

When the night finally ended, she excused herself under the pretense of exhaustion and retreated to her room. Alone, away from the weight of expectations and celebration, she let her façade crumble. She pressed a palm over her chest, as if to steady the unrest there.

What she did not know—what she could not even imagine—was that at that very moment, in a noisy cafeteria across town, Jorwyn had stood up for her. That the same person she had wounded with careless words was out there, silencing every voice that dared to slander her.

And so Avalora lay in the dark, convinced that the distance between her and Jorwyn had widened beyond repair, never realizing that Jorwyn had already begun bridging it in ways she might never hear about.

Weeks slipped by, and nothing changed between Avalora and Jorwyn.

They moved around each other like strangers forced to share the same space—civil, casual, but never warm. Their eyes met only when necessity demanded it; words were spoken only when the situation required it. The easy banter, the unspoken concern, the natural rhythm they once carried like second nature—it had all dissolved into silence.

Their teammates noticed. They noticed the stiffness in Avalora’s posture whenever Jorwyn entered a room. They saw how Jorwyn’s laugh seemed quieter now, how her gaze darted elsewhere whenever Avalora drew near. The group tried—subtle nudges, deliberate seating arrangements, half-joking comments meant to spark old habits—but the air between the two remained stubbornly frigid.

When the Accord arrived, many thought it would be the bridge. Victory, after all, had always bound them closer in the past. Surely, the shared triumph would mend the distance. Instead, Avalora’s careless words had only carved the divide deeper. What should have been a turning point became another fracture, leaving even their friends helpless to stitch the two back together.

And so, day after day, VARL-SCAR carried on—two teammates fighting side by side on missions, yet orbiting each other like distant stars, burning bright but never touching.

That evening, the cafeteria was unusually quiet. A few scattered groups ate their meals, but most of the celebratory noise from the previous week had dulled into the routine hum of life at the compound. At their usual corner table, the VARL-SCAR crew sat in a loose circle, trays half-finished in front of them.

Avalora and Jorwyn were not there. They had both left early, citing paperwork and fatigue as their reasons. No one believed either excuse.

For a moment, only the sound of spoons scraping against plates filled the air, until Solana finally broke the silence. She leaned back against her chair, arms crossed, eyes narrowing.

“Are we really just going to ignore the black hole sucking the life out of this team?”

Selene groaned, dropping her fork with a clatter. “If by black hole you mean si Ava at Jorwyn avoiding each other like the plague—yeah, we’ve noticed.”

“Ilang linggo na ba?” Maerith muttered, rubbing her temples. “And nothing. No progress, no thawing, not even an awkward ‘hey.’ Just… cold war levels of silence.”

Norelle, ever the composed one, stirred her soup before speaking. “We knew the Accord would either mend things or break them further. Looks like…” she let her spoon drop softly back into the bowl, “we got the latter.”

“Can’t believe Ava said that to her,” Garnet muttered under his breath, his fist clenched on the table. “Jorwyn didn’t deserve it. Not after everything.”

“But Ava was hurting too,” Marlowe countered gently. “She lashed out. We’ve all seen it. Doesn’t make it right, but it makes it… human.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that they’re both miserable now,” Selene snapped, though her voice softened after. “And tignan niyo, we’re miserable watching them.”

Solana, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke. “I don’t think either of them knows how to reach out anymore. They’re both too proud. Too wounded.” She glanced at the others, her tone somber. “Even if they want to fix it, wala naman magkukusang mag first step eh.”

Garnet leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Then we should do something. Force them to talk. Lock them in a room if we have to.”

“Terrible idea,” Norelle said sharply, though a small smirk tugged at her lips. “But I admit, the thought crossed my mind too.”

Maerith gave a heavy sigh, folding her arms. “Hindi naman natin sila mapipilit. If we push too hard, it’ll only backfire. This… this is something they have to figure out themselves.”

For a moment, the group fell into silence again, the weight of unspoken worry pressing down on all of them. Each of them replayed moments in their heads—the laughter that used to echo between Avalora and Jorwyn, the easy way they used to move in sync, how battles felt lighter when those two were in harmony.

Now, it felt like watching a pair of blades dulled by rust. Still sharp, still capable, but no longer gleaming as they once had.

Finally, Solana broke the quiet, her voice low. “I just miss them, you know? The way they used to be.”

Her words hung in the air, fragile and aching. No one disagreed.

The crew lingered a little longer, eating in near silence, each secretly wishing tomorrow might bring something different—that maybe, just maybe, Avalora and Jorwyn would finally find their way back to each other.

But for now, all they could do was wait.

Chapter Text

It was a random Wednesday afternoon. 

The crew was deep in their respiratory emergency drills, Avalora leading the discussion with her usual clipped focus, when a knock on the door cut through the room.

“On it,” Garnet said. She was closest, so she moved toward the door, brushing dust off her pants like she had not just been rolling mannequins around for the drill.

The door swung open, revealing a rookie rescuer standing stiffly in salute. Garnet returned the gesture with an easy snap and gave the younger one a nod to speak.

“Chief Reyes is commanding FO Robles and Nurse Arceta to her office by fourteen-hundred, FO Apuli,” the rescuer announced.

Every head in the room swiveled to the doorway, surprise etched across their faces. Avalora blinked, marker still in hand.

“What for?” Jorwyn asked, already rising to her feet. She crossed the room with steady strides until she stood shoulder to shoulder with Garnet.

“No additional instruction was given, FO Robles.”

“Today ba?” Jorwyn pressed, tone sharpening slightly.

“Yes, FO. Today.”

Jorwyn’s brows lifted, but she gave a curt nod. “Alright. You may go now. Thank you.” Her lips tugged into half a smile. 

However, the rescuer did not move. She lingered, shifting on her boots like she was wrestling with something.

“Anything else?” Jorwyn prompted, sensing she was not done.

The rookie’s eyes went wide, and she fidgeted with her hands. “I… I’m a huge fan, FO Robles. I’ve watched the Accord so many times, and I really… really want to win it someday too—so I can be on the wall with you and Nurse Arceta.” Her cheeks pinkened, and she glanced down, embarrassed by how much she had just admitted.

The entire room erupted in whistles, teasing, and laughter that bounced off the walls.

Garnet leaned back, a teasing smile spreading across her face. “Aww, look at you, all starry-eyed and nervous,” she said, voice softening into a coo.  

“Gusto mo ba papicture sa JorAva?” Norelle sing-songed, practically skipping as she latched onto Avalora’s left wrist and dragged her toward the door where Jorwyn stood.

“JorAva, your face!” Avalora groaned, tugging hard against Norelle’s grip. “Bitawan mo nga ako!”

“Can I?” the rookie asked hopefully, eyes round with excitement.

Garnet chuckled at her earnestness. She clapped a hand onto Jorwyn’s shoulder and nudged her forward. “Pagbigyan niyo na, Jor. Saan phone mo? Ako na kukuha ng picture.”

Avalora, who had not escaped Norelle’s grasp, was unceremoniously shoved beside the rookie. Now cornered, she shot Jorwyn a glare that screamed I hate this .

“Say JorAva!” Garnet grinned, lifting the phone.

“JORAVA!” chorused the other SCAR members from the back, joined gleefully by the rookie rescuer herself.

Jorwyn exhaled sharply through her nose as Avalora closed her eyes in mercy.

When the rookie finally left—grinning like she had won the lottery—the room burst with laughter, and the duo resigned themselves to readying up. In an hour, they would be face-to-face with Chief Reyes, with absolutely no idea why they were being summoned.

“Pipirmahan na siguro wedding leave niyo,” Norelle chimed, still on a roll.

“Shut up, Norelle,” Avalora muttered, though her ears were pink. That only made the laughter louder.

“Let’s just use my truck,” Jorwyn offered dryly, already reaching for her jacket.

But Solana was not about to let the moment slide. She shot her hand up like she had just volunteered in class. “Ako na magmamaneho, Jor. Tapos sa likod kayong dalawa ni Ava maglambingan.” She bit her lip, barely holding her laughter when Jorwyn rolled her eyes hard enough to strain a muscle.

“I’ll leave my phone here,” Avalora announced, mostly to herself as she set it down. “Low-bat. Sandali lang naman siguro kami.”

“Ako din. Five percent na lang pala ‘to,” Jorwyn said.

Selene, who had been quiet this whole time, finally piped up with wicked timing. “Naks. Pati phones, couple na kayo?”

“Shuta!” Jorwyn snapped, snatching up her bag. “Eto na nga, aalis na kami para tumigil na kayong lahat!”

Their teammates exploded into laughter again, and as Avalora slipped out the door beside her, she wondered—not for the first time—if she should have just faked a cough to skip work that day.

At Jorwyn’s car, Avalora slipped into the passenger seat without a word, her gaze immediately fixing on the window beside her. The movement was practiced—almost too deliberate—as if by looking outside she could erase the presence of the woman settling into the driver’s seat.

Jorwyn adjusted the mirrors, turned the key, and let the engine hum to life. She made a show of focusing only on the road, ignoring Avalora entirely. At least, that is what it looked like. She had barely shifted into gear when her eyes flicked sideways and caught something.

“Nurse, your seatbelt.” Her voice was clipped, casual, eyes still forward.

“Right,” Avalora answered quickly, fumbling for the strap. Jorwyn waited for the familiar click before pulling out, but after a few seconds, there was nothing. No click. Only the mutter of Avalora’s curses under her breath.

Jorwyn glanced again. Avalora was struggling, her fingers clumsy as she tried tugging the belt across her body. She had not managed to pull it entirely with her right arm stiff and awkward, her left hand straining to make up for the weakness.

The memory struck Jorwyn instantly that three days ago, Avalora had slipped on a wet floor during a mission, crashing down on her elbow. A bad break, quick treatment, but still healing. No wonder she looked ridiculous trying to wrestle with the strap.

“Sit straight. Ako na.” Jorwyn’s tone left no room for argument.

Avalora froze, shoulders tensing, as Jorwyn leaned across the console. The movement was smooth and unhesitating; the warmth of her presence filled Avalora’s personal space all at once.

Avalora stiffened. Ngayon lang ba… pero does she always smell this good? Her breath caught in her throat.

It was not fair. Most of the time, Jorwyn carried the scent of smoke or disinfectant—remnants of the field, sharp and clinical. But here, in this enclosed space, there was something else—a trace of soap, clean cotton, and the faintest edge of cologne she could not place. 

That could be why, now that we are this close, she doesn't reek of danger or blood. Kaya siguro…

Jorwyn noticed. Of course, she noticed. Avalora’s eyes flicked, just barely, in her direction, just long enough to give her away. The corner of Jorwyn’s lips tugged upward—a wicked little smirk.

And because she could, she slowed down her movements deliberately, letting Avalora stew in the closeness. Her hand slid the belt across Avalora’s chest, her arm brushing hers just enough to make the nurse go rigid. When she finally snapped the buckle into place, she pressed it in with extra emphasis.

Click.

The sound was sharp, final, and louder than necessary.

Avalora cleared her throat instantly, as if that slight sound had rattled something in her chest. She turned her head back toward the window, forcing herself into calm. 

“Thanks,” she muttered.

“Do you like how I smell?” Jorwyn teased, her tone dripping with amusement.

Avalora scoffed, keeping her eyes stubbornly on the blur of passing scenery. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jorwyn chuckled under her breath, more satisfied than she should be. Without another word, she pushed down on the accelerator, the car surging forward as they headed toward the Chief’s office.

The silence in the car settled thick, broken only by the low purr of the engine and the occasional squeak of the tires against the road. Avalora’s eyes stayed glued to the glass, determined not to look at the woman beside her.

Jorwyn, of course, would not let Avalora be at peace.

“Wala ka bang sasabihin?” Jorwyn finally broke the silence, casual, like she was asking about the weather.

Avalora’s brow furrowed. “About what?”

“About me saving your life five minutes ago.” Jorwyn flicked her eyes toward the securely buckled belt, a smug tilt to her mouth.

Avalora exhaled slowly through her nose. “Seatbelt lang ’yun, Robles.”

“‘Seatbelt lang,’ daw.” Jorwyn chuckled, shaking her head . “If I did not initiate, baka hanggang ngayon, nakikipaglaban ka pa rin d’yan sa seatbelt na ‘yan.”

“Nobody even told you to aid me with this.”

“Sure,” Jorwyn drawled, clearly unconvinced.

To cut the weight of the silence, Jorwyn reached forward and turned on the radio. Static at first, then a ’70s pop song blared, far too cheerful for the mood in the car.

Avalora blinked, lips twitching. “Really? This is what you listen to?”

“Don’t judge my taste, Nurse Ava,” Jorwyn shot back. She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel in time with the beat, grinning wider when Avalora tried to hide her small laugh.

Avalora quickly covered, clearing her throat. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“And what suits me, then?” Jorwyn leaned ever so slightly, voice teasing but heavy with challenge.

Avalora clamped her mouth shut, cheeks warming. She did not answer. Jorwyn smirked again, victorious.

At one point, Jorwyn had to brake suddenly as a tricycle swerved into their lane. Instinctively, she threw her arm out across Avalora’s chest to brace her.

Avalora’s breath caught as her eyes darted down to where Jorwyn’s arm pressed firmly against her. The gesture had been automatic, protective, but far too intimate.

“You okay?” Jorwyn asked, voice low, almost amused.

Avalora nodded too quickly, retreating toward the window again. “Ayos lang ako.”

But her pulse betrayed her. She could feel it hammering in her throat, and she knew Jorwyn had noticed.

For the rest of the drive, neither spoke much. The tension hung heavy, buzzing between them like static. Jorwyn kept stealing sidelong glances, a faint smirk tugging her lips each time she caught Avalora’s stubborn profile.

And Avalora, despite every effort, found herself hyper-aware of every shift, every breath, every small laugh Jorwyn made at the road ahead.

By the time they pulled up in front of the tall Command Center, where the Chief's office is located, Avalora had never been so grateful to see a building in her life.

Everyone they met on the ground floor greeted them with smiles and congratulatory remarks. BlueSent staff passing by nodded or waved, clearly aware of their partnership announcement. Avalora gave polite smiles, her cheeks heating each time the words 'perfect match' or 'golden duo' reached her ears.

Then they unexpectedly ran into Avalora’s father.

Dr. Arceta had just stepped out of the Chief Commander’s floor when he spotted them. 

“Ava! FO Robles!” he called, beaming as though the two walking together was the best sight he had seen all day. Without warning, he pulled Jorwyn into a hug.

Both Jorwyn and Avalora froze in shock. Jorwyn blinked over her shoulder at Avalora, whose face had gone crimson.

“I’m so glad my única hija is paired with a competent rescuer,” Dr. Arceta said warmly, releasing Jorwyn with a hearty pat on the back.

“No, sir,” Jorwyn corrected, her voice steady but respectful. “I’m actually the lucky one. Your daughter’s an excellent nurse. I’ve been through accidents that nearly cost me my life—pero she’s always there to make sure I’m alright..”

The words hit Avalora harder than she wanted to admit. She turned pink, ducking her head.

Her father grinned. “She told me you were watching over her all the time. I’m glad my Ava is being looked after.”

And just like that, he waved goodbye and disappeared down the hall, leaving Avalora staring at the floor tiles and Jorwyn smirking at her flushed face.

Inside the elevator, Avalora jabbed the button for the 11th floor. The metal doors closed with a soft groan, trapping them together in the narrow, mirrored space.

“Ano pa sinabi mo sa dad mo?” Jorwyn teased, hands slipping into her pockets.

Avalora’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Don’t start, Robles.”

But before she could fully retort, the elevator stopped at the third floor. The doors slid open, and four people shuffled in, chatting noisily. They crowded the space, pressing the button for the fourth floor.

Jorwyn arched a brow. One floor lang, di pa makapag-hagdan? she thought, biting her tongue before the sarcasm slipped out loud.

As soon as the elevator stopped again and the four exited, silence settled. Avalora huffed, arms crossing over her chest. “Whatever, Robles,” she muttered, answering the unspoken thought she had somehow sensed.

Jorwyn grinned. “Nakwento mo na din ba sakanila yung JorAv—”

But her teasing died in her throat when the lights overhead flickered once, twice—then cut out entirely. The elevator jolted to a sudden stop. The floor indicator blinked briefly before fading. They had been on the eighth floor.

“Shit,” Avalora whispered, her voice sharp with realization.

“Calm down,” Jorwyn said quickly, pressing the emergency button, but nothing happened.

“Damn it. Must be a power interruption.” Jorwyn pulled her phone from her pocket. The screen lit up with one last notification—Norelle’s message. She read it aloud:

“Jor, naramdaman niyo ‘yung lindol? There’s a power—”

Her cellphone died mid-sentence, the screen fading to black.

“Goddammit.” Jorwyn cursed, shaking the useless device.

“Great job, Jorwyn,” Avalora snapped. “Brought a phone that isn’t useful naman.” She slumped down against the wall, exasperated.

“I forgot to plug it into my car. Kasalanan kasi ng isang ‘di makapagsuot ng seatbelt kanina. I got distracted,” Jorwyn shot back, pacing the small metal box.

“I never asked for your help!” Avalora fired.

“Well, you’d still be struggling kung wala ako!”

“Then maybe we should’ve taken longer para hindi tayo sumakay dito sa elevator at ma-trap ngayon!” Avalora’s voice rose, bouncing off the metal walls.

Jorwyn pressed her lips into a thin line. Avalora was not wrong. If the outage were connected to a larger disaster, then rescue teams would focus first on residential zones. The Command Center is one of the last priorities.

“Great,” Jorwyn muttered under her breath.

Avalora let out a short, humorless laugh. “So, what now? What will my great knight in shining armor do?” she asked mockingly, eyes glinting in the dark.

Jorwyn exhaled hard through her nose, giving up on pacing. She dropped down into the opposite corner, putting as much space as she could between them in the cramped box.

The elevator settled into silence again, broken only by the faint hum of stalled machinery and their uneven breathing. Two stubborn souls, stuck together with nowhere to run.

Jorwyn suddenly remembered that every BlueSent uniform came with an emergency flashlight. She fished it out of its compartment, grinning at her discovery.

Without warning, she clicked it on and flashed it directly at Avalora’s face.

“Putang—! Robles!” Avalora cursed, squinting and throwing her arm up to shield herself.

Jorwyn only chuckled, satisfied. “Works fine,” she said, sweeping the beam across the cramped elevator before finally directing it toward the small instruction plate near the buttons.

Her lips moved as she read aloud. “In case of emergency… long press on the EMERGENCY button—kainis. I already pressed this, walang nangyari. Walang kwenta pag walang kuryente.” Her voice echoed sharply in the metal box, frustration creeping higher with each word.

“Can you keep your voice down? Sakit sa tenga,” Avalora muttered, leaning her head against the cool wall.

“Walang kwenta,” Jorwyn repeated anyway, and with a dramatic sigh, she plopped down on the floor again.

Avalora frowned, replaying the words Jorwyn had just read— long press.

“Wait a second,” she said, straightening. “How exactly did you press the emergency button?”

“I clicked it,” Jorwyn replied flatly, as if the answer should have been obvious.

“You dumbass.” Avalora pushed herself up, glaring down at her. “It literally says long press! Did you even read properly?”

A crease formed between Jorwyn’s brows. “…I didn’t?”

Avalora stretched out her hand. “Give me the flashlight.”

Too drained to argue, Jorwyn tossed it over. Avalora caught it one-handed, the beam jerking across the ceiling before she steadied it.

“Yeah,” Avalora muttered, leaning in close to the panel. “The instruction definitely says long press. You somehow missed the most important word.”

And with that, she held the button down firmly. To both their shock, the roof hatch above them shuddered, then creaked open with a metallic groan.

“Whoa!” Jorwyn shot to her feet, eyes wide.

Avalora smirked, savoring the moment. “What’s mighty Jorwyn gonna do if I wasn’t here, hm?”

Usually, Jorwyn would have fired back instantly, but this time she did not. Her focus was glued to the rectangular opening above. She snatched the flashlight back, lifting the beam toward the gap. The light fell on the outline of something wedged inside—canvas, straps, bulky edges.

“There’s something up there.” She tilted her head. “Hey, Nurse Ava. I’ll lift you. Think you can reach it?” Her tone was not commanding, more cautious, as if weighing Avalora’s still-injured arm.

“I’ll manage,” Avalora said with quiet determination. “Just make sure you don’t drop me.”

That familiar smirk curved Jorwyn’s mouth, visible even in the half-light. “Say less.” She crouched, bracing her stance, and motioned. “Climb on. Sa right shoulder ah.”

Avalora hesitated, then shifted her weight carefully, straddling her perch.

“Are you comfortable?” Jorwyn asked, adjusting to her balance.

“I should be the one asking. You’re literally carrying my whole weight.”

“You’re light lang naman, Nurse Ava,” Jorwyn said easily. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Then yes,” Avalora replied, half grudgingly, half amused. “Comfortable enough.”

She stuck the flashlight between her teeth, wincing at the metallic tang, but with one good hand, she managed to grasp the strap of the object above. It was heavy—much heavier than expected.

“Got it na?” Jorwyn asked, her voice steady below her.

Avalora mumbled around the flashlight, “Too heavy. If I pull, it’s gonna fall.”

“Let it fall,” Jorwyn said, shifting her grip to stabilize Avalora better. “I’ll catch it, worry not.”

Avalora narrowed her eyes at the ridiculous confidence but yanked anyway. With one strong tug, the object slipped free and plummeted to the ground.

Jorwyn twisted, catching it against her chest with a grunt. “Got it!”

Avalora climbed down gingerly, and the two of them sank back to the floor, examining their prize.

Jorwyn pulled open the flap. “Well, would you look at that? An emergency pack.” She rummaged inside and laughed. “And for the record, I never said I’d report this elevator. You imagined that.”

Avalora just grinned, nudging her. “Uh-huh. Keep going.”

Inside was a surprising stash: four 22-ounce insulated tumblers already filled with water, neatly sealed food rations with labels extending fifteen years into the future, first aid kits, four flashlights, and—most promising of all—a radio phone.

Jorwyn held it up, only for the display to remain blank when she fiddled with it. “Dead. Figures.” She shook her head. “Okay, now remind me to report this elevator once we get out.”

Avalora chuckled softly, inspecting the compact food bars. “At least we’ve got the basics. Food. Water. Flashlights. Too bad no crowbar or anything to force the door.”

“They probably didn’t trust people not to use it against themselves,” Jorwyn reasoned.

“Mm. Makes sense.”

The two of them leaned back against opposite walls, the bag between them. The tiny space still pressed in on all sides, but now there was a buffer—a sense of security. Not comfort exactly, but the fragile relief of knowing they were not completely helpless.

For the moment, they stayed there in the dim light, the elevator humming faintly around them, waiting to see what fate had planned next.

Jorwyn entertained herself in the only ways she knew how in tight spaces. First, she tapped her fingers on the metallic wall—an uneven rhythm that echoed far too loudly in the elevator shaft.

“Stop that,” Avalora hissed.

So Jorwyn switched to humming. A cheerful, overplayed ‘70s pop tune, the same one that had tormented Avalora’s speakers during their car ride earlier.

“Seriously?” Avalora groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Undeterred, Jorwyn flicked the flashlight on and off, strobing the small space until Avalora swore at her.

When Jorwyn finally settled for murmuring a low rant about their situation, Avalora cut her off again with a sharp, “Quiet.”

That was the last straw.

“Pati yata paghinga ko papansinin mo na?” Jorwyn snapped, frustration crackling in her voice.

“If it gets annoying, then yes!” Avalora shot back without hesitation.

Jorwyn’s jaw tightened, frustration sparking in her eyes. “Yeah, like that’s normal—nitpicking every move I make.” 

Her voice rose, edged with hurt she could not hold back. “Like when you questioned me for saving someone during a rescue. In the middle of a mission, Nurse Ava! Do you know what that felt like? To be second-guessed when I was just trying not to lose another life?”

Avalora blinked, stunned by the accusation. Her breath hitched before words tumbled out, sharp but unsteady. “Wow, Robles?” she snapped, though her voice betrayed a tremor. “Like you weren’t just as bad? Always butting in when I’m treating patients—acting like you know better?”

“Yours is different,” Jorwyn said, voice low, almost raw. “I saw what it was doing to you.”

“And have you seen what your work does to you?” Avalora demanded.

Jorwyn glared at her, shoulders tight, every word edged with defiance. “You think I’d throw myself into danger if I didn’t believe I could survive it?” Her voice caught at the end, a flicker of rawness breaking through the anger.

“I don’t know!” Avalora burst out, her voice cracking under the weight of frustration. Her hand curled into a fist at her side as if holding herself together. “Do you even hear yourself? Every time you come back bleeding, every time you stagger in like it’s your last day on earth—I feel pathetic for wanting to patch you up. Pathetic for caring when you don’t seem to care at all!”

Her chest heaved with the confession, the words spilling faster than she could rein them back.

Something flickered in Jorwyn’s expression, a crack in the anger she had been clinging to. 

When she spoke again, her voice softened—gentler, but weighted with conviction. “Of course I care. Why do you think I said those things to your father? Why do you think I defend you when those nurses whisper that you don’t deserve your spot?”

She leaned in slightly, eyes steady, as if daring Avalora to doubt her. “I would not bother if I didn’t see how damn competent you are.”

Avalora froze, her heartbeat quickening, caught off guard. “Wait—what do you mean, defend me? Defend me from what?” Her voice wavered, equal parts confusion and disbelief, as if trying to grasp the depth of Jorwyn’s words.

“Nothing,” Jorwyn muttered, jaw clenching. She looked away, visibly irritated with herself for slipping. “Forget it.”

The silence stretched, broken only by the faint hum of machinery somewhere above them. Jorwyn ran a hand through her hair, restless, her voice unsteady now.

“You all hate it when I put myself in danger. But you don’t get it—I can’t stand still. Not when people are trapped inside a burning place.” Her voice faltered, the bravado cracking. She swallowed hard, eyes flicking away for just a moment.

“I’ve never told anyone this. Not even VARL. Ikaw pa lang nakakaalam. I’m an orphan, Ava.” Her chest tightened with each word, the admission hanging heavy in the air, raw and unshielded.

Avalora’s breath caught.

“The last memory I have of my family…” Jorwyn’s voice cracked, but she forced herself to continue. “They were trapped. In our burning house. I was the only one who made it out.” Her hands curled into fists, resting against her knees. “So yeah, I throw myself into fire. Because I swore I would never stand by and watch people die like that again.”

Avalora’s throat tightened, words tangling and dying before they could leave her mouth.

“It’s just like you,” Jorwyn said quietly, not looking at her. “You swore you’d save anyone you could, because you couldn’t save your brother.”

Avalora felt the weight of it land on her chest like a stone. She opened her mouth, desperate to answer, to say something—anything. “Jorwyn, I—”

But Jorwyn raised a hand, palm out, asking for silence without words. Her head bowed, face pressed against her knees, shoulders rigid with the effort of holding herself together.

Avalora stopped. She swallowed back her apology and let the quiet return. For once, she did not argue. She simply sat there, watching the firefighter’s silhouette in the faint light, and allowed Jorwyn to have her moment.

Then a thought struck Avalora.

Young Jorwyn, the only survivor of a house fire. It sounded so much like the adult rescuer I knew now—reckless, relentless, carrying flames in her blood.

Her eyes slid to Jorwyn, who sat staring straight into the dark, her profile dim in the thin shaft of light. The question rose unbidden: Had she been wielding her powers as a child, the same way I had?

Before Avalora could follow that thought further, Jorwyn’s voice broke the silence.

“Ava.”

Avalora blinked. “Hm?”

“How long is this thing between us gonna last?” Jorwyn’s tone softened, almost childlike—like a girl asking her playmate to stay a little longer.

“Jor—” Avalora began, but Jorwyn cut her off.

“Aren’t you tired of it? The bickering, the hurting each other?” Her voice wavered despite her effort to steady it. “Because I swear… I’m getting tired, and I don’t want this to be all we are.”

Avalora’s chest tightened. She found herself whispering back, “I feel the same way…”

Jorwyn inhaled sharply, shoulders rising as if bracing for impact. Her voice came out unsteady, but there was steel beneath it. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend I don’t care about you anymore. Because fuck—it’s obvious.”

She let out a shaky laugh, one that did not quite reach her eyes. “Anyone who sees the way I act around you knows all this was fueled by concern, by care.”

Her chest heaved with the admission, and Avalora froze, her throat dry.

“I’ve been lying to myself for a long time,” Jorwyn continued, her gaze fixed on the floor as if the words would be too heavy if spoken while looking Avalora in the eye.

“I wanted to push away the thought that there’s another person I’ll have to care for.” Her hand flexed at her side, restless, betraying the tension she tried to contain.

“But when SCAR came along… I suddenly had four more names on my list.”

Her breath hitched as she finally looked up, eyes shadowed but unwavering. “And you—” she exhaled, almost shaking, the truth breaking loose despite her resistance— “you’re right at the top.”

Avalora swore she felt something ignite inside her chest.

“Jorwyn…” she said softly, turning to face her. Her eyes lingered, vulnerable, as if weighing whether Jorwyn could bear the truth.

“If you’re worried about me, then know I’m worried about you, too. You see me getting weak when I overexert, but what you don’t see is me watching you walk straight into burning buildings—unsure if you’ll walk out alive.”

Her voice dropped, almost a whisper, meant only for Jorwyn. “Do you know what that does to me?”

A silence stretched, heavy but fragile, before she let the rest fall. “Every time, my pulse races. Every time, I think—‘what if this is it?’ And I don’t know why, but I can’t stop caring.”

Jorwyn let out a shaky laugh. “Maybe it’s my recklessness?”

“Maybe that,” Avalora said, lips twitching in a sad smile. “Or maybe it’s my own recklessness recognizing yours.”

“Maybe that’s why we’re drawn to each other,” Jorwyn murmured.

“Maybe that’s why—even when we pretend we don’t care—we still know.” Avalora’s voice softened, as if admitting a secret. “We see how the other acts, and we see how the other watches. And even knowing it makes us worry… we still can’t stop ourselves. We still do the things we swore to do.”

Jorwyn’s eyes finally met hers, raw and searching. “Maybe that’s why we clash. Because we hate that the other never listens—when really, we’re both guilty of the same thing.”

Avalora’s lips parted, a fragile hope threading her words. “Should… should we compromise?”

“I think we should,” Jorwyn said.

“Then—let’s not make each other worry. Please,” Avalora whispered, shifting closer.

Jorwyn snorted, trying to defuse the weight of it. “I can’t promise that— aray! ” she yelped when Avalora smacked her knee.

“Oo na, Ava!” Jorwyn winced, rubbing her leg with a crooked grin. “Grabe, violent ka pala. What if right hand mo pa ginamit—baka lumipad na ako.”

“You always joke around!” Avalora said, arms crossing tight over her chest. “I’m being serious.”

Jorwyn laughed at the sight of her pouting. “Okay, okay—sorry. I’m sorry for always making you worry.”

Avalora’s shoulders loosened. Her voice gentled. “And I’m sorry for the way I talk to you. I’ve said things I regret—things sharper than I meant, things you didn’t deserve.”

Jorwyn’s breath caught, the usual quick retort dying on her tongue. Her gaze dropped to her hands, suddenly unsure what to do with them.

“I don’t think you’re empty, Jor.” Avalora’s tone wavered, earnest. “I think… You carry so much that you hide it behind jokes and bravado, and I was cruel for throwing it back at you like a weapon.”

The words pressed into Jorwyn like a weight she had not expected—heavy, but in a way that made her chest ache with relief.

“The truth is…” Avalora hesitated, her eyes flicking away before daring to meet Jorwyn’s again. “You burn too brightly. So brightly it scares me. And instead of admitting that, instead of saying how much it matters, I tried to dim you with my words.”

For a moment, Jorwyn did not move. Her grin—the one she always had ready—never came. Instead, her jaw worked as if she was biting back a dozen replies, a dozen jokes, and finding none of them fit. Her eyes, usually quick to dodge or deflect, lingered on Avalora’s face, raw and unguarded.

Then she huffed a breath, softer than laughter but not relatively steady, and looked away. “Damn it, Ava,” she murmured, voice low and frayed at the edges. “You don’t get to say stuff like that and then leave me with nothing smart to answer back.”

Avalora softened and offered her left pinky. Jorwyn blinked at it, confused.

“Nu ’yan?” she asked.

“Swear,” Avalora said simply. “I’ll do it first.”

Jorwyn frowned, confusion knitting her brows, but Avalora did not let her slip away this time. She caught Jorwyn’s hand, firm but trembling at the edges, and gently hooked their pinkies together. The gesture was small, almost childish, but the way Avalora held on gave it the weight of an oath.

Her voice steadied as she drew in a breath. “I swear I won’t push myself past my breaking point. If I know it’s going to tear me down, I’ll stop. I’ll remember I have a team beside me—that I don’t have to carry everything alone.”

She paused, her gaze lifting, locking with Jorwyn’s. Her lashes fluttered once, then her tone softened, threaded with something raw. “And I promise… not to make my partner worry like that again.”

The word partner seemed to hang between them, heavier than the cramped darkness around them.

For a beat, silence pressed in around them. The pinky-lock felt almost too fragile to hold the weight of her words, and yet Avalora clung to it as if it were a lifeline between them.

Jorwyn scratched the back of her head with her free hand. “Corny naman nito—OWWW!” she winced when Avalora pressed down on their locked pinkies.

“Sabi mo ayaw mo ko masaktan pero kanina ka pa nananakit!” Jorwyn complained.

“You wouldn’t take it seriously if I didn’t,” Avalora shot back, though her tone was gentler. “And anyway, it’s not just a joke. This is… a pact. It's ours.”

Something shifted in Jorwyn’s expression. The teasing dropped from her face as her eyes lingered on their joined hands. “A pact, huh?” she repeated, quieter.

“Yeah. Our first.” Avalora’s lips curved faintly. “As partners.”

For a long moment, Jorwyn just stared at the fragile link of their fingers. It looked silly on the outside, childish even, but it felt different—weighty, like a thread being tied between them. She exhaled slowly, then nodded.

“Alright,” Jorwyn said, her voice unusually solemn. The weight in her tone made Avalora blink, taken aback by the rare seriousness.

“In this small dark space, I swear to you, Nurse Ava, that I’ll be more careful during missions. I’ll listen to my captain and to my duo.”

Her words were steady, though her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, betraying a nervous edge.

“I won’t make VARL and SCAR scream my name at the top of their lungs because of worry.” She paused, a crooked grin tugging at her mouth when Avalora narrowed her eyes at the playful jab. The tiny flicker of irritation in Avalora’s expression only softened the moment further.

“…And I won’t make Avalora, the best and my favorite nurse, carry the weight of worrying about me all the time.”

The last line slipped out gentler than the rest, and for a heartbeat, Jorwyn’s grin faltered, sincerity shining through. Avalora’s chest tightened, her throat working around words she couldn’t quite form.

Their pinkies stayed linked longer than necessary. Both of them felt it—not just a promise, but an understanding. A silent vow that went deeper than duty. Their first pact as partners.

“How long do you think we’ve been trapped already?” Jorwyn asked, her voice echoing faintly against the steel walls.

Beside her, Avalora lifted their shared insulated bottle and took a sip. Hunger was already biting, but they had agreed to split their four ration packs into quarters—small bites stretched thin, one day at a time. It was not much, but it gave them the illusion of control.

“Let me see…” Avalora raised her left wrist, the faint glow of her watch catching Jorwyn’s eye. “Seven-fourteen. Mga five hours na.”

Jorwyn’s eyes widened like Avalora had just pulled a rabbit out of thin air. “Wait—you’ve had a watch all this time?”

“Yes? Important ‘to sa aming mga med pracs,” Avalora replied, almost defensively.

“And I was over here trying to figure out time on my own?!” Jorwyn gasped in mock outrage, clutching her chest.

Avalora laughed, shaking her head. “OA mo talaga.”

“Ikaw ang OA, Ava. Nakailang inom ka na d’yan, ha? Pag ikaw talaga nakaramdam ng ihi…” Jorwyn clicked her tongue dramatically.

Avalora’s lips quirked. “Baka mauna ka pang maihi ’pag pinakilig kita.”

That sent Jorwyn rolling with laughter, her voice bouncing off the walls. “Nice joke, Ava! Seriously, no one can make me feel that.” She leaned back smugly, hands behind her head.

“Oh really?” Avalora arched a brow. “Wala sigurong nagkaka-interest sa’yo kaya walang nagpapakilig.”

“Excuse me?” Jorwyn shot up. “Di mo alam, madami nagkakacrush sa’kin!”

“Like who?” Avalora challenged. “Gaya ni Maerith?”

“Baliw. Gawa-gawa lang daw nila Halo ’yon.” Jorwyn waved it off.

“Okaaaay…” Avalora said, unconvinced.

Jorwyn narrowed her eyes playfully. “Aba, teka. How about you, Ava—wala ka pa bang crush lately?”

Avalora nearly sputtered. “Ha? Ano ba, wala!”

“Wala raw.” Jorwyn smirked knowingly. “But, I’m sure may mga nagkakacrush sa’yo rin. Kaya lang, ikaw siguro yung tipo ng nerdy class president na wala raw panahon for love.”

Avalora rolled her eyes, muttering, “Nerd ka d’yan.”

Jorwyn leaned in with a grin. “Or baka naman gusto mo ng tall, dark, mysterious type? Maybe yung tipong rich na may kotse? Aminin mo na.”

Avalora scoffed, trying to hide the warmth creeping up her neck. “Kung meron man, hindi ko sasabihin sa’yo.”

“Grabe, secretive. So ibig sabihin… meron?” Jorwyn’s grin widened, triumphant.

Avalora groaned and buried her face in her arm. “Ugh, ang kulit mo!”

Satisfied, Jorwyn chuckled and leaned back again, letting the teasing settle into the quiet hum of their shared space.

After a moment, Avalora asked, more softly, “Pero ikaw, have you dated anyone?”

Jorwyn tilted her head, smirking. “Uy, bat curious ka?”

Avalora turned her face away. “W-wala lang. I just… haven’t heard anything about your love life.” The shadows hid the faint pink on her cheeks.

“Haven’t had one for… a hundred years,” Jorwyn said, sprawling out on the cold floor with her arm for a pillow.

“Sus, sabihin mo na lang na never ka pa nagkaroon.”

“Uy ha, I did kaya,” Jorwyn replied, eyes unfocusing as if sifting through an old ache. “Hurt me so badly kaya I swore—never again.”

Something twisted sharply in Avalora’s chest. So she has loved someone that much… loved enough to break her like that?

“What did that person do?” Avalora asked, her voice cautious but firm. She shifted down to lie beside Jorwyn, careful not to brush too close.

But Jorwyn immediately noticed the strain in her arm. “Hey, your arm. Jusko, Ava, ingat naman.” She sat up quickly, grabbed their pack, and inflated a small cushion. She slipped it beneath Avalora’s head with disarming gentleness.

Damn it, Jorwyn. Don’t tell me you did this for that person, too, Avalora thought bitterly, jealousy crawling up her throat. Did you cradle them like this when they were hurting? Did they get to see this soft side of you before me?

“She left, Ava,” Jorwyn murmured once she lay back down again.

Avalora blinked. “She…?”

Jorwyn gave a small, wistful smile. “She died.”

Avalora’s throat closed. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry, Jor.”

“It’s fine. I’ve moved on already,” Jorwyn assured, though her voice faltered just slightly. “Pero, I still keep a distance from people who show interest. Lalo na if… nagkakagusto na rin ako. I can’t risk it.”

Avalora swallowed hard, her thoughts colliding violently. So she does feel things for people. She’s not untouchable. She’s just… scared. And yet—she loved that woman enough to carry her ghost all this time. How do I compete with someone who’s gone? How do I make her see me when part of her heart is buried with the dead?

“Have you dated anyone, Ava?” Jorwyn suddenly asked, pulling her from the storm in her chest.

Avalora stammered, “Wa-wala pa…”

“Really?” Jorwyn grinned, eyes scanning her face openly. “That pretty face hasn’t lured anyone yet?”

Her chest tightened, pulse stumbling as if her body knew something her mind refused to say. The words nearly escaped— I don’t want just anyone; I want… —but they withered before reaching her lips.

“Bolera,” she muttered instead, the word trembling.

“Sus! Kaya siguro kahit sobrang ganda at talino mo, walang nagkakagusto—sobrang sungit mo kasi.”

“Tse! Masungit lang ako sa’yo kasi kupal ka.” Avalora shot back, lips twitching despite the ache.

Jorwyn snorted, shaking her head. “Ayun, kita mo na. Crush-proof ka tuloy.”

The banter faded, laughter dying down until only the hum of silence filled the space.

They both lay there on the cold floor, their makeshift pillows close but not touching. Avalora’s gaze burned into the ceiling, though her mind was miles away—swallowed by the ghost of the woman Jorwyn once loved, by the sting of being too much of a coward to confess.

And Jorwyn, eyes half-shut, pretended not to notice the quiet tension radiating from beside her.

For the first time in hours, the silence between them did not feel like the walls of a trap closing in. It felt like a fragile thread—stretching between grief and longing, between someone too afraid to love again and someone aching to be chosen.

Avalora’s eyelids grew heavier with each passing minute. She tried to fight it—tried to sit upright, tried to keep her head from tipping to one side—but exhaustion was merciless. Her injured arm throbbed in dull waves, and her body had been running on tension alone for hours.

“Sleep na,” Jorwyn said softly, noticing the nurse blinking furiously to stay awake.

“I’m fine,” Avalora muttered, though her words were already slurred.

“No, you’re not,” Jorwyn countered, her tone half-chiding but gentler than before. She shifted closer and gave Avalora’s good shoulder a nudge. “Matulog ka na. I’ll keep watch.”

Avalora wanted to argue, wanted to insist that she could stay awake, but the warmth in Jorwyn’s voice made her surrender. Slowly, she leaned sideways until her temple brushed Jorwyn’s shoulder.

“Hoy…” Jorwyn muttered, surprised, though she did not move away.

“Pahiram lang…” Avalora whispered, her lashes finally fluttering shut.

Jorwyn exhaled, pretending to be annoyed, but her body betrayed her by relaxing into the contact. She adjusted carefully, slipping her arm behind Avalora so she would not strain her broken one. When Avalora’s breathing evened out, Jorwyn just sat there, still and silent, watching.

She looks… softer when she’s not fighting me every second, Jorwyn thought, eyes lingering on the curve of Avalora’s cheek. Buti na lang tulog ka—kung hindi, maiinis ka knowing I’m staring.

Her lips twitched, but the smile did not quite reach her eyes. Instead, something heavier sat in her chest—something she did not bother to name. She only knew she did not mind staying awake all night if it meant keeping Avalora safe.

When the morning light finally pierced through the faint cracks above the elevator shaft, the grinding sound of machinery followed. Voices echoed down from above.

“Got ’em!” someone shouted. “VARL unit, confirmed visual!”

Metal screeched as the doors were pried open. A rush of fresh, dusty air swept in, followed by the beam of flashlights.

“There they are!”

The rescuers’ grins widened as they took in the sight: Avalora curled against Jorwyn, her head resting peacefully on the firefighter’s shoulder, while Jorwyn sat protectively close, chin tilted in her direction as if she had fallen asleep sitting guard.

“OHHH!” Marlowe hooted, elbowing Garnet. “Caught in the act, oh!”

“Wag kayong maingay, baka magising!” Norelle, though her grin was devilish.

“Solid, oh—akala elevator lang ang stuck, pati sila dalawa rin pala!”

The laughter grew until one rescuer whipped out her phone. “Wait—wait lang! Picture muna! Souvenir!”

Before the trapped responders could stir, the shutter clicked—then another—capturing the moment from two angles.

“Perfect!” Garnet snickered. “Pwede na natin i-print, lagay sa bulletin board.”

“Better: group chat sticker pack!” Marlowe chimed in, nearly choking from laughing too hard.

Jorwyn blinked groggily at the sudden light, realizing too late how it looked. “Tangina…” she muttered under her breath, though her ears burned red. She tried to sit straighter, but Avalora stirred and only leaned closer, still half-asleep.

That was all it took for another wave of teasing to explode.

“Uy, uy, uy! Protective pa, oh! Grabe, ang sweet!”

“JORAVA! JORAVA! JORAVA!”

Avalora finally woke at the noise, disoriented at first before realizing where her head had been resting. She jolted upright, face flaming, and stammered, “I—it’s not—! Hindi ’to ’yung iniisip niyo!”

But her protests only fueled the grins and whistles of the rescuers.

“Relax, Nurse, andito na kami. Pero ang ganda ng timing, parang teleserye, oh!”

Jorwyn dragged a hand down her face and groaned. “Kayo talaga… we were literally trapped in an elevator, and this is what you take away?”

Before the teasing could escalate further, a sharp whistle cut through the noise. Maerith called for them, her voice even but firm.

“Alright, that’s enough,” she said. “Save the jokes for later. For now—get them out and checked.”

The teasing subsided into muffled chuckles, though sneaky Garnet already had the souvenir photo tucked safely in her phone.

Avalora buried her burning face in her good hand, wishing the floor would swallow her whole, and Jorwyn, despite her grumbling, could not quite stop the small, secret smile tugging at her lips.

As the harness straps secured them for lift-out, the last of the laughter died down. Avalora kept her gaze glued to the floor, cheeks still hot, while Jorwyn muttered curses under her breath at the team’s relentless snickering.

But just before the elevator doors finally closed behind them, Jorwyn snapped her head toward the grinning teammate who had taken the photo.

“Delete. That. Photo,” she warned, voice low and dangerous, but with a sly glint in her eyes that dared Garnet to defy her.

Garnet smirked, unbothered. “Copy, Robles,” she said, mock-saluting. “But if you want me to delete this photo, you’re gonna have to earn it… and I mean really earn it.”

Jorwyn narrowed her eyes, but the rope above tugged and the lift-out began before she could say more.

Avalora stole a glance at her, lips pressing together in a tight line—half mortified, half… something else. Because beneath the teasing and the embarrassment, she could not shake the thought that maybe… just maybe… that snapshot had captured something real.

The elevator shaft shrank below them as light widened above, blinding and warm. For the first time since the power outage, freedom was within reach.

Neither of them spoke as they were pulled into daylight—just two breaths, steady and side by side, leaving behind the dark with a bond no teasing could erase.

Chapter Text

Jorwyn was sprawled across her enormous sofa, half-asleep, binge-watching the second season of The Umbrella Academy at two in the morning. The rare four-day break had barely begun, but she already suspected she would not be left alone for long. 

True enough, when her phone vibrated as a message from the familiar unlisted number came, her grin spread before she even opened it.

[Marigold Tower 1
Unit 527
Plant two (2) hidden cameras - Living room and Bedroom
Meet S.E. for the cameras
Stake: 1 million]

Jorwyn let out a low whistle. “Planting cameras for a million? Would not even break a sweat, dude.” She pushed herself off the sofa, adrenaline already replacing her sleepiness, and headed to her closet to gear up.

Within twenty minutes, she was sliding into the driver’s seat after meeting Circe to pick up the supplies. The cameras themselves were something out of a spy movie—tiny, sleek, and advanced far beyond anything she had handled before.

“Client’s loaded this time, huh?” Jorwyn muttered, holding one up to the light. “Where the hell do they even get toys like this?”

The envelope tucked in the box made her pause. A perfectly detailed map of Marigold Tower, complete with a marked route to Unit 527.

“Grabe naman sa pagka-detailed nito… creepy-detailed,” she murmured, frowning. “How come they even have this?”

Still, a million was a million. By the time she parked at a nearby public garage, the doubts had slipped to the back of her mind. Mask pulled over her head, cameras tucked into her tiny backpack, map against her chest pocket, and she was ready.

“Let’s get this over with,” she muttered, before slipping into the night.

Stealth came to her as naturally as breathing. Past guards, past cameras, scaling the emergency stairs until she reached the fifth floor. She crept along the verandas until she reached 527, silently thankful none of the neighboring units were awake to notice her.

The target veranda was sealed tight—no shortcuts. Jorwyn sighed under her mask. “Of course, this person would know how to lock up. Now I remember why the stake’s so high.” 

Pulling out her picklocks, she settled into patience, listening, waiting, until the silence inside reassured her.

The lock clicked open under her practiced hands, and she slipped inside. A cheerful yellow bean bag offered quick cover while she scanned the living room. The coast is clear. 

She set the first camera neatly above the curtains, invisible to the casual eye.

Then she found the bedroom.

She pressed her ear against the door, listening. 

There was low breathing. 

A faint snore. 

She smirked. Easy.

She held the doorknob and turned it without resistance and entered quietly. The room was dim, with only the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting a faint gold hue across the floor. Jorwyn eased in, scanning.

The scent hit her first. Familiar. Too familiar.

“Wait,” she whispered under her breath. “This perfume…”

Her mind urged her to shake it off, but unease tightened in her chest as she moved closer. Relief flickered when she saw the sleeper—a woman, mask pulled over her eyes, earbud still in.

“Girl, you just made this easier for me,” Jorwyn whispered. She began searching for the perfect spot for the camera.

Her gaze landed on the pegboard, and her whole world froze.

Tacked to the board were photographs—her and Avalora, asleep against each other in that cursed elevator—photobooth strips of SCAR. Familiar faces. Familiar smiles.

“No way…” The words slipped out, her heartbeat thundering.

She turned slowly, dread crawling up her spine. The sleeping figure shifted slightly, and the lamplight caught her face just enough for recognition to slice through Jorwyn like a blade.

Maerith.

“Fuck.”

Her hands shook, and the breath she perfected the pace, now came too fast.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

Every mission she had ever done, every risk she had ever taken—never had her resolve splintered like this. She had always been steady. Focused. Ruthless. But this—planting cameras in Maerith’s room, betraying the woman who led the very team she had grown to care for—this was something she could not stomach.

“I can’t do this.” Her voice trembled.

Her eyes flicked to Maerith again, peaceful in her sleep. “Who the hell would want you bugged, Maerith? Who the hell’s after you?”

A sudden bump broke her thoughts—the swivel chair at the desk, nudged by her elbow. It was soft, barely a sound, but Maerith stirred, rolling to the other side of the bed.

Panic seized her. Jorwyn bolted from the room, shutting the door quietly behind her, heart in her throat. She leaned against the wall, pulling up her mask to suck in air. Her chest rose and fell too fast, until instinct dragged her to a memory: Avalora’s voice, calm and firm during a respiratory drill. 

Inhale steadily. Hold. Exhale slowly.

Jorwyn mimicked it, forcing her lungs into control until the world steadied again.

When she could breathe, she went back to the living room and carefully retrieved the unactivated camera. “Tangina… buti na lang hindi ko pa na-on,” she muttered, stuffing it back into her bag.

Moments later, she was scaling down the building, vanishing into the night the same way she came in.

By the time she slammed her car door shut, her pulse was still erratic. The cameras lay like venomous things on the passenger seat, their sleek black lenses staring at her.

Her phone dialed Circe automatically. When the woman answered, Jorwyn forced her voice steady. “Mission failed. Target was awake. Too risky. I couldn’t plant them.”

Circe’s tone sharpened. “You know failing will cost us. The employers will—’

“I don’t care,” Jorwyn snapped, cutting her off. “I’m not going back there. I almost got caught.” The lie burned on her tongue, but it was easier than admitting the truth—that she could not bring herself to betray them.

By the time she got home, her phone was flooded with messages. 

Demands. Threats. Promises of lost trust.

But Jorwyn did not care. For the first time in her side job career, she was not afraid of the employers’ anger.

Her only fear was for Maerith. For SCAR.

And for what this all meant.

Sleep did not come easily that night.

Jorwyn lay awake in the dark, the ceiling above her little more than a blur. Every time she closed her eyes, the words from her phone lit up in her head like a brand. One failure we can excuse. Two, we cannot.

She rolled onto her side, restless. Her phone was on the nightstand, face down, but she reached for it anyway — checking, rechecking, scrolling the empty screen for new threats that never came. The silence was worse. It meant they were watching, waiting.

By the time dawn broke, her nerves were strung tight as wire.

The next day, Jorwyn was given another mission, but not one of the high-stakes variety. Her employer was cautious now, afraid she might blow something big again. To Jorwyn’s own surprise, she did not mind. Relief outweighed disappointment—she had not shaken off the last mission yet, and forcing herself into another deadly gamble would only guarantee failure.

When VARL and SCAR returned to their office, the first thing Jorwyn did was not to debrief or catch up. Instead, her eyes went straight to Maerith.

“Hey, Mae. What did you do during our time off?” Jorwyn asked so suddenly that it made the whole table pause.

“Wow, Jor. Anong nakain mo?” Marlowe looked up, eyebrows raised.

“Wala lang?” Jorwyn replied, grinning at the tension. “Tatanungin ko naman kayong lahat. Inuna ko lang si Maerith.” She slid casually into the chair across from the lead nurse, who was busy reorganizing trauma bags laid out on the table.

“Sus, sus, sus…” Norelle swooped in from behind, draping a hand on Jorwyn’s shoulder. “Bakit di mo muna tinanong yung prinsesa mo?” She puckered her lips toward Avalora, who was frowning at Jorwyn with one brow cocked.

Jorwyn’s smile wavered on the edge of a laugh, warmth lighting her eyes as she met Avalora’s gaze. “Hi, Ava.”

That alone was enough to set off shrieking from the back. Solana slapped Selene’s arm repeatedly, squealing like she had just seen her favorite love team lock lips onscreen.

“Hello,” Avalora said flatly, not bothering to match Jorwyn’s sing-song tone.

“Ba yan, Ava!” Solana shot up like a frustrated coach barking at a rookie. “Dapat sinabi mo—‘Hello, babygirl!’”

“Mukha mo,” Avalora shot back before promptly returning to disinfecting mannequins with Garnet.

Laughter and whistles filled the room, but Jorwyn did not break focus. She was still watching Maerith, waiting for her answer.

Maerith chuckled at the chaos and finally humored her. “Nothing fun naman, Jor. Just went out with friends during the day, then stayed home at night.”

“That’s good,” Jorwyn said with a relieved nod.

“Ako, Jor!” Solana butted in, practically bouncing. “Three days ako sa—”

But Jorwyn cut her off, eyes locked back on Maerith. “Where do you live again?”

The room froze, conversation breaking off mid-sentence as if someone had cut the air. One by one, heads turned, eyes narrowing in unison toward the source of the disruption.

“Ba, Jorwyn? Ang random mo?” Garnet said, incredulous.

“Hsst.” Jorwyn hushed them without looking away. “Sa Marigold?”

Maerith blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

“I knew it,” Jorwyn muttered, pretending it was casual.

“Why?” Maerith asked, puzzled.

“Read it kasi sa bio mo nung isang beses na bored ako,” Jorwyn lied smoothly. “Then, I saw an inspection report about your building two weeks ago. Unsafe daw. Fire hazards everywhere.”

Her excuse was not hollow. When she had stealthily entered the place nights before, she had noted the unstable fire exit she had climbed, the lack of extinguishers, and the narrow, dangerous stairs. That morning, before anyone else arrived, she had even pulled the fire inspection records, and her suspicions were right. The building was not safe.

I have a solid reason to make her leave that place, she reassured herself.

“Oh? I didn’t notice,” Maerith said absently, still half-focused on her work.

“Maybe ‘cause you’re barely home,” Jorwyn teased, adding a laugh.

Maerith laughed with her, the sound light and unbothered. The others, however, had their ears tuned to every syllable.

“What if you moved to my building?” Jorwyn said suddenly, her voice cutting through the chatter. The words landed like a stone in still water, drawing startled glances from the others who had not expected her to speak so bluntly.

“Dude, akala ko si Ava?” Norelle’s gasp was sharp, her eyes narrowing like she had just caught Jorwyn red-handed.

“Jorwynina?!” Solana stormed over, spinning Jorwyn’s chair with a glare. “Don’t tell me you’re two-timing—are you a playgirl now?!”

“Hey—relax! Ano bang pinagsasabi niyo?” Jorwyn flailed, bewildered by the reactions. Her eyes flicked instinctively to Avalora—arms crossed, jaw tight, watching her.

“Lagot ka, Jor. Di na natutuwa to,” Garnet said, pointing straight at Avalora.

“Wait, narinig niyo naman sinabi ko, diba?” Jorwyn protested. “Unsafe sa unit niya. Kaya nga sabi ko—ugh, pwede rin naman kasi siya lumipat sa building nila Ava. Basta maging safe siya. Ang issue niyo talaga.”

“That’s actually… not a bad idea?” Maerith said thoughtfully. “I’ve been wanting to move closer sa inyo. Selene’s already in the same neighborhood anyway.”

“See?” Jorwyn chuckled, trying to play it off lightly.

“Parang ikaw, Jor. Nakahiwalay ka din sa’min,” Norelle chimed, smirking.

She was not wrong. Like Maerith, Jorwyn lived apart from the rest of her crew. But unlike the lead nurse, she had her reasons—staying inconspicuous, keeping her side jobs and late-night disappearances hidden.

“Fine, I’ll think about moving sa Bluem din,” Jorwyn said with a shrug.

The VARL crew cheered in unison, as though she had just agreed to marry someone.

“But Mae, ikaw ah—move ka kila Ava,” Jorwyn added with a grin.

Maerith just gave her a thumbs up, easygoing as always.

Avalora, meanwhile, turned back to her task in silence, but the set of her shoulders was stiff. She hated herself for feeling it, but the thought would not leave her—why did it sting so much to hear Jorwyn urging Maerith closer, even if the excuse was safety?

The day’s drills had finally wound down, the unit still alive with laughter as they packed up the training dummies and gear. Jorwyn, however, kept glancing toward Maerith, who was scrolling through her phone while sitting on one of the benches near the lockers.

Jorwyn walked over, tossing her gloves onto the bench beside her. “Mae, may lakad ka pa after this?”

Maerith looked up, surprised. “Ah, uuwi na lang siguro. Why?”

“I can drive you. Para safe ka makauwi,” Jorwyn offered casually, but her tone carried a firmness that made Solana, eavesdropping nearby, raise her brows.

“Oh, wow,” Solana muttered dramatically, turning to Norelle. “Si Jorwyn, knight in shining armor na rin pala ni Maerith ngayon.”

“Grabe, Jor,” Norelle chimed in, “ang sweet mo naman. Akala ko si Ava lang iniintindi mo.”

That name made Avalora glance up from her corner, where she had been quietly packing up a med kit. Her eyes flickered toward Jorwyn, unreadable, before she went back to her task with an unnecessary snap of the zipper.

Maerith chuckled, shaking her head. “Thanks, Jor, but kaya ko naman. Malapit lang.”

Jorwyn frowned slightly, leaning a bit closer. “Doesn’t matter if it’s malapit. Your building’s already questionable in terms of fire exits and security. Isang gabi lang na may hassle, delikado ka na.”

The room quieted at that, a few heads turning. Jorwyn’s protectiveness was not exactly subtle anymore.

“You sound like her bodyguard,” Garnet teased. “Dapat may contract na yan.”

“Uy,” Selene added with a smirk, “baka naman gusto ni Jorwyn lumipat na lang kay Mae para bantayan siya buong gabi.”

Laughter erupted, but Avalora’s chest tightened. She hated how much sense Jorwyn’s words made. Hated more that she could not step in without revealing too much.

Jorwyn only rolled her eyes, masking her stubborn concern with a grin. “Kung ayaw mo, fine. Pero, seriously, Maerith, think about transferring ah. Kung hindi sa building ko, at least kina Ava and Sol. Mas safe pag sama sama kayo.”

Avalora kept her gaze lowered, but her grip on the med kit strap whitened her knuckles.

“Noted, boss,” Maerith said lightly, flashing a thumbs-up.

As the teasing died down, the others returned to packing, while Avalora busied herself with the med kit, shoving rolls of gauze into compartments with more force than necessary. Each snap of Velcro was sharp, final, as if she could stitch her frustration shut along with the supplies.

It was not even funny anymore.

Jorwyn hovered around Maerith, talking about fire hazards and offering rides home, like some self-appointed bodyguard; it was too much. Rationally, she told herself it was fine. Of course, Jorwyn cared about safety; of course, she would look out for their lead nurse. That was the kind of rescuer she was.

But if it was just about safety, why did Avalora feel the twist in her chest every time Jorwyn’s gaze lingered on Maerith?

Her fingers faltered on a bottle of antiseptic. She tried to laugh it off in her head, but the thought clawed stubbornly: What makes Maerith different?

Norelle’s teasing still rang in her ears. Akala ko si Ava lang iniintindi mo. She hated how those words hit too close to what she wanted but never admitted.

From the corner of her eye, Avalora caught Jorwyn again— leaning closer to Maerith, voice low, protective in a way that felt far too personal. Maerith laughed, unbothered, while Jorwyn’s grin softened in return.

Avalora snapped the med kit shut with unnecessary force. Her fingers trembled against the zipper, the shake so small she prayed no one noticed. A sharp breath hitched in her throat before she forced it out like smoke.

Get a grip, she scolded herself. It’s not jealousy. You don’t care. You can’t. But her pulse thudded in her ears, mocking the lie.

She straightened abruptly, squaring her shoulders as if irritation alone could steady her hands. The others were still chuckling at Jorwyn’s protectiveness, so Avalora slipped her mask on the only way she knew how—sarcasm.

“Wow,” she said dryly, her voice cutting through the noise. “Jorwyn, the personal bodyguard now? Should we all line up for applications, or is it exclusive to Mae?”

The room laughed, thinking it was just another jab, but Avalora’s gaze flicked too quickly away from Jorwyn’s softened grin.

Avalora had been staring at the bluish glow of her laptop screen for over an hour, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the keys in a steady flow of words and medical jargon. Her focus was sharp, unwavering, until a sudden voice broke through her concentration.

“Ava,” Jorwyn’s voice carried a strange weight, both casual and hesitant.

“Hm?” Avalora replied without looking up, her eyes glued to the line of text she was drafting for her patient reports.

“Did Maerith… inquire to you about a spare unit sa condo niyo?”

The question was so abrupt, so out of place, that Avalora’s finger froze mid-motion on the spacebar—then pressed down too long. The page in front of her flooded with empty spaces, as if mocking her broken concentration. She cursed under her breath and tried to correct it, but Jorwyn was already leaning over, lifting Avalora’s finger from the key.

She let out a sharp hiss. “Damn it—”

“Masira ‘yan,” Jorwyn murmured. Her tone was half scolding, half worried, as though the laptop were an injured comrade she wanted to protect.

Avalora turned sharply to her, brows knitting. “Be honest, Jor. Why are you suddenly all over Maerith?”

She twisted her body fully toward Jorwyn, posture rigid, as if her stance alone could push the firefighter back into a confession.

Jorwyn, unbothered—or pretending to be—whined softly. “Concerned nga lang ako.”

Avalora’s lips curled into a skeptical frown. “Ikaw na kaya maghanap ng room sakanya if sobrang concerned ka.” With that, she forced her attention back to the glowing screen, her fingers finding their rhythm again.

But in her head, the frustration spilled. First it was Solana, now Maerith. Sus. Ano susunod—Selene naman ang bibigyan niya ng special attention?

Jorwyn’s voice broke her thoughts again, softer this time. “I’d actually do that, kapag nagmatigas yung babaeng yon.” 

Avalora could almost hear the pout hanging off her words. She sighed loudly, not even bothering to hide her exasperation.

“You can’t do anything naman if she doesn’t want to move pa talaga,” Avalora countered. “Busy din tayo lately. She doesn’t even have time.”

But Jorwyn was not letting go so easily. She reached across the narrow space, her calloused firefighter’s hand settling on Avalora’s arm—the arm that had only recently healed. Her thumb brushed gently against the skin, coaxing the tension away. “Tulungan mo ko convince siya,” she pleaded.

Avalora stopped typing, her lips pressed into a thin line. Jorwyn’s hand was warm, grounding, too distracting. “Fine,” she muttered finally, defeated. “Pero not now. I’m busy.” Her eyes darted back to the laptop, clinging to the pretense of focus.

Jorwyn let out a soft sigh, almost theatrical, but she did not remove her hand. Instead, her thumb continued to caress Avalora’s arm with a slow, careful pressure. “Di na masakit to, Av?” she asked in a quieter tone, her voice carrying genuine concern this time.

“Minsan,” Avalora admitted, softening. “Pag na-o-overexert. But I can manage.”

Jorwyn hummed in response, her hand now applying subtle massage strokes along the tender muscle. Avalora stiffened at first, then melted gradually into the sensation, each stroke soothing where soreness lingered.

“Where’d you learn that?” she asked, unable to disguise the pleasure in her voice.

Jorwyn chuckled faintly. “Kay Selene. She learned PT pala.”

Avalora raised her brows, impressed despite herself. “Figures.”

“I asked her how to do this the other day,” Jorwyn added, pressing more firmly along the muscle.

“Para saan?” Avalora asked before she could stop herself.

Jorwyn’s eyes flicked up, and her voice came out steady, deliberate. “Para magawa ko sayo.”

That made Avalora pause. Her hands froze above the keyboard, her typing forgotten. Slowly, she turned her head to meet Jorwyn’s gaze. “Come again?”

“I said,” Jorwyn repeated, voice steady but her eyes betraying a playful flicker, “I learned it for you, Av.”

The air between them shifted—something unspoken lingered in that quiet, an intimacy Avalora had not been ready for. She opened her mouth to reply, but a sudden shriek from across the room shattered the moment.

“Love?!”

Both women jerked their heads around. Solana was standing by the other table, wide-eyed, her voice carrying across the entire space. She turned toward Norelle in pure disbelief. “Norelle, did you hear that? Jorwyn called Ava ‘Love’??”

Avalora’s palm met her forehead with a smack. At the same time, Jorwyn pinched the bridge of her nose. They did not even need to look at each other to know they were thinking the same thing: Of all the possible misunderstandings… this is going to haunt us.

Avalora’s cheeks burned crimson. “For the love of—Solana, stop spreading nonsense!”

“You fool!” Jorwyn snapped, springing up from her chair. “I said Av. As in letter A and letter V, not Love!”

But Solana was not listening. She was already shaking Norelle’s shoulders with the energy of a fangirl who had just witnessed her favorite ship sail. “Love daw, guys! Love daw!” she screamed again, giggling uncontrollably.

Norelle, red-faced from laughter, joined in with equal enthusiasm. “Confirmed! We heard it too! JORAVA is real!”

Solana whipped out her phone, pointing it like a weapon. “This is historic. I’m live-tweeting this.”

“Don’t you dare!” Avalora snapped, half rising from her chair.

Jorwyn groaned audibly, her hands covering her face. “This is a nightmare.”

“No,” Solana corrected gleefully. “This is the best day of every JorAva truther."

Norelle joined in, chanting, “JOR-AVA! JOR-AVA!” until Solana followed, their voices echoing through the room like a crowd at a concert.

Avalora’s pulse thundered. “You’re both children,” she muttered, but her voice lacked bite.

The teasing chorus filled the room, bouncing against the walls like a chant. Avalora groaned audibly, hiding her face in her hands. Jorwyn could only roll her eyes heavenward, muttering under her breath.

“This is your fault,” she hissed to Jorwyn, crossing her arms.

“My fault? You’re the one with a nickname na madaling ma-mishear!” Jorwyn argued, though her lips twitched as if fighting back laughter herself.

“Then stop saying it like you mean something else,” Avalora shot back, but her cheeks burned despite her sharp tone.

The teasing did not stop. Solana had already created the name of their ship fandom, while Norelle cackled in the background like the chaos was pure entertainment.

Jorwyn leaned closer to Avalora, lowering her voice so only she could hear. “You know this will never end, right?”

Avalora sighed, her shoulders slumping as she muttered in resignation, “Yeah. Thanks a lot, Jor.”

But even as the noise carried on, Jorwyn’s hand found her arm again, grounding her, warm and steady. Avalora did not pull away this time. Not because she wanted the others to be right, but because maybe, just maybe, a part of her did not mind.

It was already past midnight when the city finally quieted, when the usual bustle of engines and hurried footsteps dimmed into a silence only broken by the hum of streetlamps. 

Most of the team had rushed home the moment their shift ended, eager for the warmth of bed or the comfort of familiar walls. 

But not Jorwyn.

She should have gone home hours ago. Should have been lying on her couch, one arm flung lazily over her face, her body recovering from the long day. Instead, she found herself here—in the narrow shadows between buildings, in a corner so dim and desolate no decent soul would ever wander past at this hour.

She pressed her back against the rough brick wall, boots planted on the raised bed of decorative plants that lined the edge of the apartment complex. It gave her just enough height to see over the opposite building’s veranda. And there—bathed in the soft yellow glow of a wall lamp—stood her subject.

Maerith.

The lead nurse leaned on the railing, her posture weary but composed, a glass of something pale in her hand. She looked like she was unwinding, but to Jorwyn’s eyes, it was a vulnerable target painted against the night sky.

“First time I failed a task and now I’m guarding my supposed target?” Jorwyn muttered, her voice carrying into the night. She did not bother lowering it; this alley was empty, and she trusted the shadows to swallow her words. Her eyes stayed fixed on Maerith, as if staring hard enough could shield her.

“You look creepy as hell right now.”

The sharp voice cut through Jorwyn’s thoughts like a knife. Her heart lurched violently, adrenaline spiking.

She spun around fast, muscles coiled, ready for anything. What she found nearly made her groan out loud.

Solana.

The fleet driver stood a few feet away, arms folded, lips curled into a smug grin. She did not even look apologetic for sneaking up on her.

“What are you doing h—did you follow me?!” Jorwyn hissed in a loud whisper, panic bleeding into irritation. 

Now that someone else was here, the silence of the alley seemed to shrink, and her awareness sharpened painfully. Every rustle, every shadow felt like it had teeth.

“Oh, please, Jor.” Solana strode closer, her tone infuriatingly casual. “I should be the one asking you that. Why are you watching Maerith like some creepy stalker?”

Before Jorwyn could block her, Solana nudged her shoulder, pushing until she, too, could peek past the brick wall. “Kitang-kita mo siya dito ah. Should I begin to worry?”

Jorwyn’s mouth worked uselessly, excuses tumbling out one after another. She was just… worried. She was making sure nothing happened. She was waiting in case Maerith called Solana’s unit to inquire about a space. Thin, ridiculous strings of logic that even she did not believe.

Solana tilted her head, unimpressed. “You’re so bad at making excuses.”

“I’m protecting her,” Jorwyn said finally, voice firmer, as if saying it out loud could make it sound less insane.

“Ang creepy nga ng pag-protect mo na ‘yan,” Solana shot back, lips quirking.

“Eh, ikaw ba?” Jorwyn countered sharply, more defensive now that her own nerves were exposed, “Why are you here nga?”

That smug little grin returned to Solana’s face. “Nag-aalala kasi ako. What if you’re two-timing my teammates?” she declared dramatically, shifting back into her delusional fangirl persona. “I can’t let JorMae ruin JorAva!”

Jorwyn blinked, utterly thrown. “Jor–what?!”

Solana jabbed a finger at her chest, eyes gleaming with mock outrage. “I can’t let you play Ava. Not my precious and pretty Ava.”

Jorwyn groaned and shoved Solana back from the wall, imitating the way she had been pushed earlier. “Siraulo.”

She turned back toward Mareith's veranda, only to see the nurse had moved—now seated in her chair, her drink balanced lightly in her hand. 

A pang of dread twisted in Jorwyn’s stomach. She muttered under her breath, almost to herself, “I have to get her out of here.”

Solana caught the tone, the shift from banter to something heavier. Her smile faded. “Okay, let’s be serious now. Can you please tell me what’s going on, Jor?”

“I can’t tell you, Sol.” Jorwyn’s gaze never left Maerith.

“Then I’ll tell Ava about this.”

The threat landed like a punch. Jorwyn whipped her head toward her, eyes blazing. “No!”

Solana leaned casually against the wall, unbothered by the desperation in Jorwyn’s voice. “Speak,” she said, arms folding as if she had all the time in the world.

Jorwyn clenched her jaw, weighing her options. Trust was not something she handed out easily—especially not with this secret. But the thought of Solana running to Avalora with half-baked accusations… that was worse.

She inhales sharply. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Basta di lulubog ang JorAva,” Solana replied instantly, smirking.

Jorwyn stared at her flatly, then waved her hand dismissively, as if to swat the nonsense away.

“I’m kidding!” Solana laughed, gripping Jorwyn’s shoulders and forcing her to face her again. “Come on. Spill mo na.”

“Fine. Goddamn it.” Jorwyn exhaled, scrubbing a hand down her face. “You see, I have a side job.”

“A what?”

“Dude, you heard me. I’m not repeating myself. Makinig ka nang mabuti.”

Something in her tone made Solana straighten. The usual playfulness in Jorwyn’s eyes had dimmed, replaced with something graver. She nodded once. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“I’ve had these side jobs since college,” Jorwyn admitted, her voice low. “That’s why… that’s why I’m loaded.”

Memories flickered in Solana’s mind—the flashy cars Jorwyn casually drove to work, the sprawling condo she lived in alone, the way she always paid for the team’s food without complaint. It all suddenly made sense.

“Okay,” Solana said slowly.

“These jobs are dangerous,” Jorwyn continued, “and they come from an employer I don’t even know. They don’t know me either. We have a middleman, and I get missions through her, or through anonymous messages.”

“That sounds ridiculous.” Solana’s fingers tapped her chin thoughtfully, like a detective interrogating her suspect.

Jorwyn rolled her eyes. “And you see, one of my recent missions included planting spy cameras and unfortunately—”

“Was it for Maerith?” Solana interrupted, her voice softening.

Jorwyn’s shoulders sagged. “Yes. I got into her unit, her room. I even planted the first camera. But when I saw it was her, I… I couldn’t. I undid everything. I reported my failure to my employers.”

“Hmm.” Solana’s eyes narrowed, but her voice held no judgment.

“I would never harm Maerith,” Jorwyn said firmly, conviction threading every word. “Even if it costs my own neck. I’m scared for her, actually. Scared that someone’s targeting her. That’s why I’m so damn persistent about getting her to move.”

For the first time, Solana did not tease. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she absorbed the weight of Jorwyn’s confession.

“I understand,” she said finally.

“You do?” Jorwyn asked, surprised by the lack of sarcasm.

Solana met her gaze. “Look, Jor. I won’t get in your way with these… side hustles of yours. But Mareith's my leader. We have to make sure she’s safe.”

“We?” Jorwyn repeated, cautious.

“Yeah.” Solana’s voice was steady, unflinching.

“You’ll help me convince her to leave?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, malakas ako sa kanya. I can get her to move.”

Relief washed through Jorwyn, heavy enough to make her exhale loudly. “Thank God.”

“No, Jor.” Solana’s tone softened, surprising her. “Thank you. For being honest.”

Jorwyn blinked at her, momentarily at a loss. Then she extended her hand, roughened from years of fire and ash, like she was sealing a pact. “You have my word.”

Solana clasped it without hesitation, her grip firm and steady. “Thought so.”

In the quiet that followed, the deal hung between them—not just a promise, but an unspoken alliance. Above them, Maerith sipped her drink, unaware of the watchful eyes and the fragile threads of loyalty weaving beneath her balcony.

A silence stretched between them, brittle and loaded. The courtyard’s lamps flickered faintly, leaving the edges of Solana’s face in shadow, her eyes unreadable. Jorwyn shifted, uncomfortable with how her own pulse betrayed her composure. She had faced crumbling buildings and roaring fire without hesitation, yet one playful taunt from Solana left her struggling for ground.

Finally, Solana tilted her head, the faintest curve tugging at her lips.

“Careful, Jorwyn,” she said, softer now, almost teasing but edged with something sharper. “If you keep circling like this, people might start to think you care.”

Jorwyn’s throat tightened. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, unwilling to give Solana that satisfaction. Instead, she fixed her gaze on the veranda where Maerith still lingered, an anchor against the strange pull Solana always seemed to have.

“I care about duty,” Jorwyn said at last, her voice clipped, but it wavered just enough to betray the crack beneath her armor.

Solana stepped closer, the distance between them narrowing until Jorwyn could feel the warmth radiating from her. For a heartbeat, it felt like a challenge, a game Solana always won simply by daring Jorwyn to want something she should not.

Then Solana’s voice dropped, low and conspiratorial, brushing against her like the brush of a flame.

“Duty,” she murmured. “Is that what you call it?”

Jorwyn slowed her stride, her boots crunching faintly against the gravel of the garden path. She did not turn immediately, though she could feel Solana’s presence clinging to her shadow like a second skin.

“What are you still doing here, Solana?” she finally asked, her tone steady but quieter now, almost weary.

Solana shrugged, that easy smirk still curling at the corner of her mouth. “I told you, didn’t I? Making sure my favorite ship doesn’t sink before it even sets sail.” 

Her gaze darted toward the veranda again, where Maerith’s silhouette remained perfectly still against the spill of moonlight. “But maybe,” she added more softly, “I just don’t like the idea of you being alone out here.”

The admission caught Jorwyn off guard. She turned then, her eyes narrowing, trying to read Solana’s expression. But the other woman was already shifting, her grin back in place, hiding whatever truth had nearly slipped free.

“You can’t keep following me,” Jorwyn muttered, crossing her arms. “If Maerith noticed, it wouldn’t just be me answering questions.”

“Relax ka lang, babygirl.” Solana leaned closer, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “She won't know naman we're here. You’re the one making us obvious by glaring at me like that.”

Jorwyn exhaled through her nose, caught between irritation and reluctant amusement. “One day, Solana, you’ll push too far.”

Solana tilted her head, eyes glinting. “And if I do? Will you finally stop me… or just keep letting me tag along?”

The challenge hung between them, quiet but heavy. Maerith shifted slightly on the veranda above, forcing Jorwyn’s attention back to her vigil. Yet when she looked again, Solana had not moved—still standing at her side, as though she belonged there.

For reasons she refused to name, Jorwyn did not send her away.

And then, Jorwyn’s phone buzzed just as she slipped it back into her pocket. A message from her employer. Shorter and sharper this time, but enough to send a shiver down her spine.

“Finish 527. Failure = Replacement.”

Her jaw tightened. She stared at the sentence until the screen dimmed, her own reflection ghosting over the glass — hard eyes, clenched teeth.

She deleted the message, but the weight of it lingered in her chest like smoke after a fire. They were not bluffing. If they could not rely on her, they would find someone else. Someone less hesitant. Someone more ruthless.

Which meant Maerith was not just in danger from shadows she could guard against. Jorwyn herself had just painted a target on her back.

She glanced up at the veranda, at Maerith leaning against the railing in the glow of the streetlamps, so carefree it almost hurt to watch.

For the first time in a long time, Jorwyn wondered if she had underestimated how far her employers were willing to go.

The phone buzzed one last time—a single word.

“Deliver.”

Her jaw tightened as she stared at the glowing words. If she did not act, someone else would. Someone without hesitation. Someone who would not flinch at planting cameras in Maerith’s bedroom, or worse.

The thought made her stomach twist. For the first time, failure did not just mean losing her employers’ trust—it meant handing Maerith’s safety to monsters who had no reason to care.

Jorwyn shoved it deep into her pocket and exhaled through her teeth, forcing her hands steady. She could not afford to show cracks — not to the team, and definitely not to Avalora.

But inside, she knew: this was not over.

Chapter Text

It was four in the morning, and as always, the joint jog felt like a form of torture. 

The air, heavy and damp, clung to the firefighters of BlueSent as they dragged their feet across the pavement. Groans and heavy breathing filled the quiet streets, illuminated only by the dim, flickering streetlamps. They were tired, sore, and dripping with sweat, but no one dared to slow their pace. Not when the Fire Chief himself was leading the pack, his strides long and unwavering.

Finally, the run was over. The moment they were dismissed, the team collapsed, some leaning against a wall, others dropping onto the nearest bench. 

Garnet, still heaving, took a long gulp from her water bottle before pointing it at Jorwyn. "Damn, Robles," she muttered, her voice raspy. "Do you even sweat? You look like you just went for a casual walk."

Marlowe, who was sprawled out on a bench, groaned in agreement. "Seriously. The rest of us look like we just got in a fight, pero ikaw... You look like you're not even phased."

Jorwyn just smirked, a drop of water tracing a path down her temple. She tossed her towel over her shoulder, the motion fluid and effortless. "What can I say?" she replied, her voice low and confident. 

"Maybe I'm just built differently."

By the time the team stumbled back to the station, half were already plotting their return to bed. Some bee-lined for the showers, others attacked the breakfast trays with the appetite only dawn runs could summon. 

VARL was among the first to hit the showers, and when Jorwyn finished her routine, she found herself alone in the locker room.

The burner phone she had kept in the bottom of her bag vibrated repeatedly.

Her stomach tightened before she even touched it. She knew the rhythm of that vibration too well.

[BlueSent Paramedic Bay
Supply Room 2, Cabinet #11
Deposit package
Meet S.E. for the package
Stake: 1 million
Complete by today 

Failure = 527 replacement]

Jorwyn’s breath caught. The last line froze her in place. She had never seen a warning like that in any mission order before. 

527 replacement. 

Her employers were serious this time. They wanted the last mission—Maerith’s mission—finished, and this was the way to prove her loyalty.

Her pulse quickened. She shoved her phone away, dressed in record time, and slipped from the locker room before anyone could see.

The paramedic bay was still quiet at this hour, corridors echoing only with the hum of fluorescent lights. Jorwyn hurried to Supply Room 2, her boots nearly silent on the tiles.

Cabinet #11. 

She found it instantly, and when her eyes slid to the name etched beside the number, she almost laughed in disbelief.

#11 — SCAR.

“This is unbelievable,” she whispered.

Her heart pounded. 

First, it was only Maerith, and now the entire team is involved. Whoever was behind these jobs was not just throwing petty orders her way because they knew SCAR personally. Knew their addresses, their routines, even their storage cabinets.

She wanted to believe that maybe this new mission was some sort of loyalty test from her employer—if she would choose SCAR or her contract with them. However, she quickly remembered that her employers did not know her real identity. They could not possibly know her personal ties to SCAR, not as a member of VARL, not as someone living under BlueSent’s roof.

Her skin prickled.

“Obsessed ka talaga sa’amin noh?”

The voice behind her nearly made her jump out of her skin.

Jorwyn spun, slamming back against the cabinets, and found Solana grinning, face far too close to hers.

“What the—fuck, Sol!” Jorwyn pressed a hand to her chest, trembling from the jolt.

“Hi, Jorwynina.” Solana’s voice was singsong, her grin infuriating.

“One of these days talaga, I’m going to kick your ass,” Jorwyn muttered, trying to calm her heartbeat. “Always sneaking up on me.”

“That is… if you can catch me,” Solana teased, slotting a key into the very cabinet Jorwyn had been staring at. She tugged out a box of rubber gloves and cocked her head at the firefighter beside her. “And besides—what the hell are you doing in our bay?”

“Ha? Wala ah. Napadaan lang.”

It was the lamest excuse of her life, and Solana’s face said it all.

“Seriously? That’s what you came up with?”

Jorwyn scratched the back of her head, forcing a nervous laugh. “Nag breakfast ka na? Punta pa lang ako cafeteria.”

Solana glanced theatrically around the room, as if searching for a hidden door. “May daan ba dito papuntang cafeteria?”

“Ugh.” Jorwyn groaned.

“If you don’t tell me,” Solana sing-songed, “isipin ko na lang you’re leaving a love letter for Ava.” She tapped the cabinet. “Though sa locker niya na lang dapat, since we share this one.”

“There is no love letter, okay?!” Jorwyn hissed. Her throat tightened. “It’s that…”

“It’s… ano?” Solana prodded, eyes dancing.

“Dude, I’m in trouble.”

The seriousness in Jorwyn’s tone made Solana pause—just long enough to overreact. “Ano?! Nasugatan ka ba?! Galing kayong takbo diba? Shit, lagot tayo kay Ava pag nakita niya yan.”

“Tanga!” Jorwyn shot back. “If I were hurt, I’d be in the clinic, duh.”

Solana folded her arms, not buying it. “Then why the hell are you here?”

Jorwyn sighed, pulled out her phone, and showed her the message. 

Solana leaned in, squinting. “Dude, format ba ‘yan ng mga missions mo. Ang panget ah.”

Jorwyn exhaled loudly, but then Solana’s eyes widened, realization crashing down.

“Oh shit?!”

“Yeah.” Jorwyn did not even wait for her to finish.

“That’s how you get missions?!” Solana’s grin split wide. “Totoo nga mga pinagsasabi mo?!”

“All this time akala mo gawa-gawa ko lang?” Jorwyn snatched the phone back. “Sol, this isn’t a joke.”

“Supply Room 2, Cabinet eleven…” Solana repeated, smirking. “Deposit package. Easy lang ‘yan! Malay mo, four million pesos ‘yon.”

“Sol naman!” Jorwyn’s voice dropped to a whisper, sharp. “What if it’s something dangerous? Dude, a bomb or a contraband?”

“Oh my.” Solana blinked, finally sobering.

Jorwyn pinched the bridge of her nose. “This ties back to Maerith’s mission. Whoever’s behind this is targeting SCAR. First Mae, now all of you. Imagine if this job were handed to someone else—you’d all be screwed.”

“Then do the mission, Jor.” Solana’s voice hardened.

Jorwyn’s head snapped up. “What?! No. I’m not harming you guys.”

“You just have to plant it,” Solana said firmly. “Then l’ll be here. Ako unang makakakita, and I’ll remove it before anyone else does. Simple.”

“No. I can’t drag you into this.”

“Well, I’m not letting you carry this stress alone.” Solana’s gaze was unwavering. “This is for Maerith, right?”

Jorwyn’s chest constricted. “…Yes.”

“Then trust me. Plant it and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Silence stretched. Jorwyn hated herself for even considering it, but Solana’s stubborn stare left no room to argue.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But this is the last time I will involve you.”

Solana gasped dramatically. “Ayaw mo talaga tayo maging partners in crime?!”

“Oh, shut it!” Jorwyn snapped.

Before their bickering could escalate, a cool voice cut through the room.

“What is a fire officer doing in the paramedic bay?”

Both froze, and slowly, they turned.

Avalora stood at the doorway, arms folded, eyes sharp.

Jorwyn moved first, striding quickly past Solana toward her. “Sinamahan ko lang siya dito, but I’ll go na, Av.”

“Aalis ka na kasi nandito na ako? Like you were running away from something?” Avalora asked, voice deceptively calm, though her brow arched in a way that cut sharper than the words themselves.

“Uy, hindi ah!” Jorwyn forced a laugh. “Kakain pa kasi ako, I just got in from a run. Sinamahan ko lang si Solana kasi mag-isa siya kanina. Scared daw siya.”

Avalora’s gaze slid to Solana—measured, lingering a beat too long. There was nothing overt in her expression, but the slight tightening at the corner of her mouth betrayed something sharper underneath.

“Tumpak,” Solana confirmed with a lazy grin and a thumbs up.

Jorwyn seized the moment, eager to change the air. “Have you already eaten, Av? Lika, sabay ka na.”

“I haven’t yet,” Avalora said, though her tone carried a faint clipped edge. She brushed past them to open her cabinet, fingers a little too brisk on the lock. “I’ll go after I finish here. I really need my morning coffee.”

“I’ll wait for you,” Jorwyn offered softly.

Avalora’s shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly at that. She did not turn, only hummed in acknowledgment, but the gesture of brushing her hair quickly behind her ear betrayed the way the words lingered.

“Ang aga-aga, pinapakilig niyo naman agad ako!” Solana squealed, clutching her forehead like she could not handle the excitement.

The cafeteria was beginning to empty when Jorwyn pushed the doors open. The smell of garlic rice and brewed coffee still hung in the air, but most of the early comers had already eaten and left. 

At one table near the far window, the rest of VARL were clearing their trays. Marlowe gave her a lazy wave as she stood, stretching.

“Hey, Jor. You’re late,” she teased, her grin a little smug.

“May sinamahan lang ako,” Jorwyn said casually, but her gaze flicked to Avalora walking in behind her, and immediately she added, “Don’t worry, I’ll be with Av.”

That alone earned her a chorus of knowing giggles. Norelle nudged Garnet, who smirked as though she had just caught sight of a romance drama unfolding live. Marlowe shook her head and muttered something under her breath, but her grin gave her away.

“Sayang di natin sila makikitang magsubuan,” Norelle said in a sing-song tone, stacking her tray. “Too bad for Solana, ‘di niya din mawi-witness ship namin, hay.”

The three of them filed out, leaving Jorwyn and Avalora with the quiet hum of the cafeteria and a few scattered night-shift stragglers. Jorwyn exhaled in relief and guided Ava toward the counter.

“Coffee?” Jorwyn asked, like she did not already know the answer.

“Of course,” Avalora replied, though her tone was clipped. She folded her arms as she glanced at the pastries on display. “And maybe one of those croissants.”

“Noted, boss,” Jorwyn said with a little salute. She went to order while Avalora claimed a seat near the corner window, away from prying eyes.

When Jorwyn returned, balancing a tray—two mugs of steaming coffee, a golden-brown croissant on one plate, and a sticky cinnamon roll on another—Avalora arched her brow.

“Didn’t I say I wanted the croissant lang?”

“Yeah, but this one looked good too.” Jorwyn slid the cinnamon roll closer to her own side, then winked. “Pero kung gusto mo, hatian mo na lang ako.”

Avalora gave a tiny huff and shook her head, but her lips threatened to curve. She tore a piece of croissant instead, biting into it with deliberate calm. For a while, they ate in silence, but Jorwyn could feel Avalora’s eyes flicking toward her, sharp and probing, until finally—

“So,” Avalora said, tearing another piece of bread, “bakit ka nga nasa bay namin kanina? With Solana. That early.”

Jorwyn nearly choked on her coffee. She set the mug down carefully and leaned back in her chair, trying for nonchalance.

“You’re so kulit, napadaan lang naman nga talaga ako.”

Avalora’s brow furrowed. “Napadaan? The supply room is two halls away from your bay.”

Caught, Jorwyn rubbed the back of her neck. “May hinahanap lang ako.”

“Hinahanap… kay Solana?” Avalora pressed, her voice quiet but edged with suspicion.

For a beat, Jorwyn did not answer. She could still feel the phantom weight of her burner phone in her pocket, Solana’s eyes widening when she saw the mission text. Telling Ava was impossible and dangerous. So instead, Jorwyn leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table and tilting her head like she was studying Avalora under soft light.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, Av.” Jorwyn’s voice dropped, steady and sure, leaving no room for doubt. “I swear, I was just keeping Solana company lang talaga.”

Avalora frowned, about to retort, but Jorwyn interrupted her with a sudden gesture—reaching across the table to pluck a crumb from the corner of Avalora’s lips. Her thumb brushed lightly against her mouth before she pulled back with a grin.

“Messy eater ka pala.”

Ava froze, stunned, the faintest heat rising in her cheeks. “Jorwyn—”

“What? You’ve got a stain,” Jorwyn teased, a grin tugging at her lips. To soften the moment, she picked up a napkin and placed it gently beside Avalora’s plate. “So next time, you won’t have to blush when it’s me wiping it off.”

Avalora rolled her eyes, but she could not stop the corner of her mouth from twitching upward. She sipped her coffee to hide it, staring out the window as if the early morning sky suddenly fascinated her.

“Hindi pa din sagot ‘yon,” she murmured.

“Hm?”

“Why were you with Solana nga?” Her gaze returned to Jorwyn now, steady, refusing to be sidetracked by playfulness.

Jorwyn tilted her head again, smile soft but unreadable. Instead of answering directly, she reached forward once more, this time brushing a stray strand of Avalora’s hair back behind her ear. The touch lingered a second too long. 

Avalora’s breath hitched—barely audible—but enough that she nearly fumbled her croissant. She steadied her hand quickly, hiding the tremor by lifting her coffee for a slow sip. The rim of the mug hid the heat rushing up her cheeks, though her pulse betrayed her with every beat.

“I like it better when I can see your whole face,” Jorwyn murmured, warmth in her tone.

Ava inhaled sharply, her pulse quickening despite herself. “You’re dodging the question.”

“Maybe.” Jorwyn leaned back, biting into her cinnamon roll as though the conversation were over. “Pero isipin mo na lang, if it were something bad, hindi kita sasalubungin ng coffee and pastries, diba?”

Avalora’s lips parted, ready to argue, but she caught herself. The gesture—the coffee, the food, the way Jorwyn fussed over crumbs and hair—was exactly the kind of sweet, distracting tactic that always left her off balance. 

Infuriating, and yet warm.

“Jorwyn,” she said finally, softer now. “You can’t always smile your way out of things.”

Jorwyn’s grin faltered for a breath, then returned, but this time it carried something more fragile underneath. “Maybe not. But right now, what matters to me is that you enjoy your breakfast.”

Silence stretched between them. 

Avalora stared at her plate, tearing another piece of croissant, her thoughts tangled. She wanted to demand answers, to press harder—but the warmth in her chest when Jorwyn tucked her hair behind her ear made her hesitate. What was she even more afraid of? The truth Jorwyn hiding the truth about her own feelings?

Across the table, Jorwyn watched her carefully, memorizing the furrow in her brows, the faint pink on her cheeks. She wished, for just a second, that this could be the only kind of mission she ever had is sitting across Avalora, making sure she ate, making sure she smiled, shielding her from crumbs and stains instead of danger.

“Fine,” Avalora said at last, her tone resigned. “But one day, you’ll eventually tell me.”

Jorwyn raised her mug, holding her gaze. “No promises, Nurse.”

They drank in unison, the unspoken tension still thrumming between them—but softened by the steam of coffee, the buttery flake of pastry, and the fragile illusion of a morning that belonged only to the two of them.

When Jorwyn received Circe’s text about the package’s drop point, she did not waste a second. She slipped out, engine roaring to life, and drove straight toward the place. Solana had already promised to cover for her if anyone noticed she was gone, though Jorwyn swore she would be back within twenty minutes.

“Celestine, you'd better succeed,” Circe had warned.

Jorwyn only nodded, determination tightening her jaw.

Back at the station’s parking lot, she pulled in with practiced ease, keeping her head low. She sent a quick message to Solana.

[Lot, now. We open it together.]

She had promised to share this part, whatever it turned out to be.

A minute later, Solana slipped into the lot, quick on her feet. Jorwyn lowered the tinted window of her truck—one of her many customizations for situations like this—and popped the locks. Solana climbed into the passenger seat, grinning despite the nerves written in her bouncing knee.

“Nakaka-excite,” Solana whispered, almost giddy.

“Baliw. Pag delikado ’to…” Jorwyn muttered, pulling at the tape that sealed the small box.

The lid gave with a crackle. Both leaned in, breath held. Inside lay a neat stack of small plastic containers, their labels yellowed with time. Puzzlement crossed their faces until Solana picked one up and turned it over in her hand.

Her grin faltered for the first time that night. When she picked up one of the yellowed containers, her knuckles whitened around the plastic. “Dude…” Her voice dipped, quieter, sharper. “This is phased out already.”

Jorwyn frowned. “What even is it?”

“Painkiller,” Solana said flatly. For a beat, her usual lightness was gone—the kind of silence that made the weight of her words sink deeper. “Super effective, pero sobrang addictive. Banned years ago.”

Solana turned the bottle in her hand, her lips pressed thin. “Look, manufactured pa noong 2013. Luma na ’to.”

Then, almost too fast, she slapped the container back into the box with a forced grin. “Well. At least hindi bomb, ‘di ba? Mas madali ‘to i-handle.”

But the laugh that followed rang hollow, too sharp around the edges.

“Man…” Jorwyn muttered under her breath. The thought clicked fast. “So if this gets traced back to you guys—this could wreck you?”

She had smuggled weapons before, documents, coded drives. But this was different. This was not just evidence someone could brush away. These were banned painkillers that could ruin SCAR’s reputation, get their licenses revoked, and destroy their lives.

“Yeah,” Solana said grimly. Silence stretched for a beat, and the weight of it filled the truck.

“Still,” Solana added with a shrug, tone turning sharp again, “just do it.”

Jorwyn shot her a look. “It’s too dangerous, Sol. What if may makakita niyan before we can—”

“Ano ka ba?” Solana scoffed, almost laughing. “Don’t you trust me? Sa tingin mo ba hahayaan ko lang na we’ll get ruined?”

Jorwyn shook her head, her jaw tight. “But, what if may makakita bago ka makabalik? If somebody randomly stumbles into it?”

“Jor.” Solana’s voice cut firm, slicing through the cramped air of the cab. Her eyes were steady, serious now. “I wouldn’t push this if I wasn’t sure I could handle it. They told you to plant it tonight, right? Then maybe someone checks it overnight, baka bukas may ‘gotcha’ moment. Pero bago pa man may makapasok sa supply room, I’ll already be there. I’ll make sure it never blows back on us.”

Jorwyn exhaled hard, tension coiled tight in her chest. “Sol…”

“I’ll even volunteer to lock up the supply room before the end of shift,” Solana pressed on. “Alam mo namang lahat ng night shift naka-focus sa Room 1. Whoever’s planning this clearly has access—pero once you get that confirmation text, I’ll double back, pull it out before anyone else can move.”

Jorwyn searched her face. “You’ll actually do that?”

“Yes. They’ll contact you the moment it’s in place, diba?” Solana replied quickly.

“Yeah. Usually mabilis sila. Baka nga the second I drive out, may confirmation na.”

“Then I’ll stay right here until then.” Solana sat back, as if her decision was final. “And when you get the text, I’ll move immediately. No trace, no risk.”

Jorwyn’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. She wanted to argue, but she also knew Solana was not the type to bluff when things got serious.

“Trust me, Jor,” Solana said again, softer this time, eyes meeting hers. “I wouldn’t volunteer to do this if I wasn’t sure I could handle it. Promise.”

Jorwyn tried to laugh, but the sound came out hollow. She pulled the items out and slipped them into the biggest pocket of her six-pocket pants, her motions slower than usual, as if buying herself time.

Solana leaned back, arms crossed. “An hour na lang, you said? You'd better get going. If someone checks and doesn’t find that thing where it should be, you’re the one who’ll be in trouble.”

The reminder sliced sharply. Jorwyn nodded and slid out of the car. Her boots echoed faintly in the stillness of the underground parking lot. With every step toward BlueSent’s paramedic bay, the weight of the containers in her pocket pressed heavier, her pulse drumming louder.

She wanted to believe in Solana’s confidence. She wanted to believe this was just another mission, another item planted, another box checked. But as she slipped into the sterile halls with the contraband cradled in her arms, Jorwyn’s mind kept replaying one thing:

If this blows up, it will not just take her down. It will take all of them.

And she was not sure which terrified her more—failing her employer again, or watching the people she swore she would protect get dragged under because of her.

When Jorwyn was on her way to the paramedic bay, her footsteps quick and steady against the tiled floor, she almost missed the familiar figure stepping out of the supply room. 

Avalora, arms full of charts.

Jorwyn froze. Her heart stuttered in her chest. Of all the places Avalora could have appeared, of all the times—why here, why now?

Her instincts flared. Without thinking, she pressed her back against the wall and ducked into the shadowed corner of the hallway. She crouched slightly, then slid onto one of the wooden benches, feigning nonchalance as if she had simply been waiting for someone.

Her pulse drummed in her ears, but she forced a calm mask over her features. She needed to look ordinary and harmless.

And then Avalora’s voice cut through the hush of the corridor.

“Hey, Jor.”

That smile. Half amused, half suspicious. Avalora’s brow was arched, her eyes glinting like she already knew Jorwyn was hiding something.

“Saan ka galing?” Avalora continued, stepping closer. “You’ve been gone for a while, and I’ve been looking for you—and Sol, actually. Akala ko nasa medbay na naman kayo.”

Jorwyn rubbed her eyes and stretched into a half-yawn, buying herself precious seconds to think. “Coffee run lang kami ni Sol, Av. Promise, kung wala ‘yon baka nakatulog na ako sa hallway.”

She tried to laugh, but even she could hear the fatigue dragging her tone down. It was not just exhaustion because it was also the weight of what she carried in her pocket.

Avalora’s smile faltered, worry softening her features. She leaned in slightly, studying every line on Jorwyn’s face. “You should’ve told me,” she murmured, voice dipping lower, “I could’ve gotten it for you instead.”

Something in Jorwyn’s chest tightened. She fought the urge to reach out, to accept that quiet care Avalora always offered so freely. Instead, she brushed a strand of Avalora’s hair behind her ear, fingers lingering a second too long.

“It’s fine, Av,” she said with a small smile. “No need to worry.”

But Avalora did not let go so easily. “Eh bakit ka nandito pala? Si Sol?”

The question caught Jorwyn off guard. For a split second, her mind blanked as she had not prepared for this. She had not expected Avalora here, right now, standing between her and her mission.

“Sol went back to the office na,” Jorwyn managed smoothly enough. “I was kinda strolling lang, pampaalis ng antok, and when I reached here, naupo lang ako saglit.” She shrugged. “Didn’t know I’d bump into you pa here.”

“Okaaay.” Avalora narrowed her eyes, unconvinced but unwilling to push further. “Let’s go back na sa office?”

Panic tickled the edges of Jorwyn’s calm facade. She could not go back yet, not until the pills were planted. Not until the task was complete.

Her mind spun, searching for an excuse. Anything. But before the silence stretched too long, fortune, in the form of Solana, intervened.

“Avalora!”

Solana’s voice rang out from behind, bright and mischievous. She strode toward them with that grin that spelled both salvation and trouble. “Halika, I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?” Avalora blinked. “Tara, Jor, may sasabihin d—”

“No, no, no,” Solana interrupted, wagging her fingers with a flourish. “About kay Jor ’to. Nahuli ko siya kanina—about din sayo ‘to, dali!” Her grin widened, wicked and knowing.

Jorwyn’s stomach plummeted. She shot Solana a glare sharp enough to cut, but Avalora’s brow was already lifting in curiosity.

Solana winked, subtle but deliberate, and made a small flicking gesture with her hand. The signal was clear: Go. Now. I’ll cover for you.

Jorwyn swallowed her nerves and played along. “Solana, wag mong sasabihin ’yon!” she exclaimed, injecting just enough panic into her voice to sound convincing.

Avalora smirked, eyes lighting with playful suspicion. “Oh, Jorwyn. What is this?” 

And before Jorwyn could stop her, Avalora darted toward Solana, who quickly slung an arm over her shoulder and began dragging her away down the hall.

Jorwyn did not waste another second. She sprang from the bench and hurried toward the paramedic bay. Her palms were slick, her chest tight, but her steps were silent and precise. She slipped inside the supply room, the key Solana had secured for her cool against her fingers.

She did not need it since her lockpicking skills were second nature, but the key definitely saved precious time.

The cabinet clicked open. With swift, practiced motions, she slid the contraband pills inside, nestling them deep where no casual glance would spot them. One mistake here and it was not just her cover at risk—it was SCAR’s, too.

Lock. Click. Done.

Her heart still raced as she darted back out, retracing her steps to the bench where Avalora had first found her. She sat down, forcing her breathing to slow. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breath calmed. 

She had faced far deadlier tasks, yet this one rattled her the most. Perhaps because of what was at stake—because Avalora was near, because one wrong move could shatter everything.

She fished the burner phone from her chest pocket and typed the confirmation with steady hands: 

[Task complete. Package delivered.]

She exhaled, tension bleeding out of her limbs, but her reprieve lasted only seconds. Avalora reappeared, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with something that made Jorwyn’s gut twist.

“Robles,” Avalora said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks tinged pink. 

“Totoo ba ‘yon? Sol said she saw me on your phone—ako daw wallpaper mo?” Her tone carried the bite of an accusation, but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her giddy anticipation.

Jorwyn cursed under her breath. 

Jusko po, anong pinagsasabi ni Solana?

“Yeah?” she said, a grin tugging at her lips, though it did not quite steady the flicker of nerves in her voice. “It’s just a reminder, okay? Proof na I won that bet. You still owe me, remember?”

Fortunately, she was quick to come up with something. She recalled the photo she had snapped of Avalora dozing after their wager. It was the most perfect cover.

“Ugh!” Avalora groaned, face reddening as the memory hit her. She spun on her heel and stomped off, clearly more embarrassed than angry.

Relief washed through Jorwyn in waves. “Sol is very helpful,” she muttered, “but I should not forget that she is also a menace.”

She jogged to catch up, waving the incriminating photo like a weapon. “Av! Prize ko ’to ha. You still owe me a secret. Hindi ka makakatakas.”

Avalora shot her a glare but could not hide the small smile tugging at her lips. The teasing continued until they pushed through the office doors, laughter bubbling between them like nothing dangerous had just happened.

“Wow, pauwi na lang, nagbalak pa talaga kayong magsarili?” Maerith’s voice cut across the room as she caught sight of the pair entering together.

Avalora jumped into the banter, sparring with Maerith and the others. Jorwyn, meanwhile, felt the vibration against her chest. She slipped the burner free and checked quickly.

[Package delivery confirmed. 567 will remain in your care.]

The job was done. 

She allowed herself a small sigh of relief, then glanced toward Solana. Their eyes met across the room, a silent exchange. Jorwyn gave her a thumbs up, and Solana’s answering nod was subtle but sure.

Minutes later, Norelle dismissed them. Chairs scraped and chatter filled the room. 

Solana vanished almost instantly, slipping away as if she had never been there. Before disappearing, she tossed a parting command to Avalora. “Sumabay ka muna kay Jorwyn. I have something to take care of.”

And then she was gone—trackless, as always.

Jorwyn approached Avalora, keys dangling from her hand. “Tara? I’ll drive you home.”

“No!” Avalora protested, eyes narrowing. “You’ll just grill me lang about the photo.”

“Okay, okay. Promise, on hold muna ’yun.”

“No. Let’s forfeit it na lang.”

Jorwyn gasped, feigning outrage. “Ano ba ’yan? Ako na nga magsasabay sa’yo, tapos yung prize ko mawawala pa?”

“Edi magta-taxi na lang ako.” Avalora thumbed at her phone, opening the app.

“Uy, ano ba. Sabi ko nga, wala na yung dare-dare na ’yon.” Jorwyn stepped closer, gently lowering Avalora’s hand. She could not risk her going home alone—not after everything. Not when Solana also had entrusted this to her.

Avalora rolled her eyes but relented, sliding into the passenger seat once they reached the car. The hum of the engine filled the silence. 

Jorwyn’s phone buzzed again. A message from Solana: a single smirking emoji, followed by a thumbs up.

The meaning was clear. Everything had gone smoothly.

Grinning, Jorwyn glanced at Avalora. “Let’s get dinner. My treat?”

Avalora blinked, startled. But after a pause, her lips softened into a reluctant smile and she nodded.

Jorwyn kept glancing sideways at Avalora as she drove, waiting for her to protest again. Surprisingly, the nurse stayed quiet, staring out the window with her chin resting on her hand.

“So,” Jorwyn started, testing the waters, “favorite spot mo saan? Since ikaw ang bida, ikaw pipili.”

Avalora hummed, not looking at her yet. “Akala ko ikaw ang nagyayang kumain. Dapat ikaw ang mag-decide.”

“Eh, kung fast food lang dalhin kita?” Jorwyn teased, keeping her tone light. “Drive-thru fries, tapos uwi.”

That earned her a sharp glance, Avalora’s lips twitching with the effort not to smile. “If you’ve got a death wish, fine. But since you’re treating me, you’re taking me to my favorite place.”

She rattled off an address Jorwyn did not recognize. A small, tucked-away bistro by the bay.

When they arrived, Jorwyn understood instantly why it was Avalora’s favorite. The place was cozy, the lights soft and warm, with windows that opened out to the sea breeze. Not many people knew of it, but it was intimate without trying.

Avalora visibly softened the moment she stepped inside, like tension had bled right out of her shoulders. “Finally,” she murmured, sliding into her seat by the window.

Jorwyn sat across from her, studying the way Avalora’s expression shifted, unguarded here in her own chosen space. “You come here a lot?” she asked.

“Mm. Whenever I need to breathe.” Avalora’s gaze flitted to her, and for a heartbeat, something like honesty hung between them. “Not a lot of people know about this place.”

Jorwyn smirked, leaning back. “So that means I’m a special guest.”

“Special guest? Don’t flatter yourself.” Avalora rolled her eyes, though the color creeping up her ears betrayed her. Her fork clinked faintly against the plate, a slip of unsteady fingers. She covered it fast, slicing into her food with deliberate calm, but her chest was tight. 

Why did a single line from her partner make her react like this? 

She pressed her lips together, forcing the flush down, refusing to let Jorwyn see how much it rattled her. “It’s not because of you—it just happened. Circumstance lang. Don’t start thinking you’re important enough to get that title.”

Jorwyn’s grin only widened as she caught the blush Avalora was trying so hard to hide. “Mm, sure,” she drawled. “Circumstance looks a lot like favoritism to me.”

Avalora’s mouth opened like she had a retort ready, but nothing came out. She snapped it shut again, cheeks burning hotter, and turned away instead.

They ordered, and while waiting, the teasing came easily. Jorwyn brought up the sleeping photo again; Avalora swatted at her across the table, muttering threats that only made Jorwyn laugh.

But when their food arrived, conversation softened. Avalora dug into her meal with obvious delight, and Jorwyn found herself watching more than eating. Every time Avalora’s face lit up describing a dish or a memory tied to it, Jorwyn caught herself listening too closely, storing details she had no business treasuring.

“You’re staring,” Avalora said suddenly, eyebrows arched.

Jorwyn did not flinch. “Can’t I appreciate the good taste? Both sa food… and sa choice ng lugar.”

Avalora blinked, caught off-guard. She opened her mouth to retort, then shut it, cheeks coloring as she returned to her plate.

The silence stretched, but it was not heavy. It was comfortable.

After dinner, they lingered a while by the window, the sound of waves muffled under the bistro’s low music. Avalora tapped her fingers against her glass. “You’ll forget this place tomorrow. I don’t really think this is your style.”

“Hmm,” Jorwyn leaned forward, voice dropping a shade. “Or maybe babalik ako. With the same company.”

Avalora froze, eyes flicking up to her. She looked like she might say something, something that might slip too close to the truth, but instead, she scoffed lightly and stood, grabbing her bag. “Bayaran mo na. Ikaw nagyaya.”

Jorwyn grinned as she rose too. “Oo naman. Worth it naman, eh.”

Outside, under the quiet streetlamps, Avalora walked ahead, her hair catching the breeze. Jorwyn trailed a step behind, fighting the ridiculous urge to reach out.

Not colleagues tonight. Not teammates. 

Something else. Something unnamed.

The morning broke sharply and tensely. SCAR had barely clocked in when a call came through the intercom summoning them to the paramedic bay. Solana and Avalora exchanged confused glances, but it was not until they saw the Fire Chief already waiting inside—with arms folded, jaw tight—that the unease hardened into something heavier.

The rest of SCAR filed in behind the Maerith, chatter dimming when they caught the look on the Chief’s face. Solana, unusually quiet, kept her expression carefully schooled.

“SCAR,” the Fire Chief began, voice cutting through the sterile air, “we received a tip this morning that contraband has been stored in your supply cabinet.”

The words slammed into the team like a shockwave. Maerith’s mouth fell open, Selene muttered a sharp curse, and Avalora straightened, eyes wide.

“Sir, with all due respect—what?” Avalora blurted. “That’s impossible.”

The Chief’s gaze swept over them, unreadable. “I hope it is. But we don’t leave matters like this unchecked. Ricalde—open the cabinet.”

Everyone’s eyes fell on Maerith as she stepped forward, her hands visibly shaking. She unlocked the cabinet, pulled the doors wide, and revealed nothing. Supplies sat neatly arranged, untouched. No contraband. No trace of anything suspicious.

A beat of silence followed.

“…It’s clean,” Maerith said, exhaling relief. “Sir, we don’t know where that accusation even—”

“It wasn’t an accusation,” the Chief cut in, his tone iron. “It was a tip. And I take all tips seriously.”

The atmosphere shifted again, SCAR’s bewilderment thickening into frustration. Ron bristled, “A tip from who? Someone’s clearly trying to frame us.”

The Chief finally spoke the name. “One of your fellow nurses. She claimed she stumbled upon it while doing a routine supplies check. Chavez.”

Avalora stiffened, her mouth parting. “Ch–Halo?”

The name dropped like a stone into water, ripples spreading across the room. The nurses among them exchanged startled glances. Solana’s lips thinned, but she did not speak.

“Halo wouldn’t—” Her voice caught, too thin, and she forced it steady. “She wouldn’t just accuse without reason. There must’ve been a mistake.”

Her tone was firm, but the way she bit her lip after, eyes darting away, betrayed the crack she was desperate to hide.

The Chief’s gaze lingered on Avalora, then the rest of SCAR. “Whether by mistake or malice, this station doesn’t tolerate negligence. Consider this a warning. You’re under watch now.”

He turned on his heel and left, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The weight of suspicion hung over them like smoke.

Then Selene cursed again under her breath, Maerith slammed the cabinet shut harder than necessary, and Avalora muttered, “This is insane.”

Only Solana stayed unnervingly quiet, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground. Because, unlike the rest, she knew the Fire Chief was not wrong—contraband had been there. And only luck, her quick hands, and the twisted game they were playing had saved them from exposure.

The moment SCAR walked into the shared office, VARL could tell something was wrong. Their usual chatter was gone; even Solana was quiet, her jaw set tight.

Norelle looked up first. “What happened?”

Avalora’s tone was clipped, brittle. “The Fire Chief pulled us into the bay this morning. He said there was a report—someone tipped him that contraband was stashed in our supply cabinet.”

The room went dead silent.

“What the hell?” Garnet said, half-rising from her chair.

“They made me open it in front of him,” Maerith added, her face pale. “And it was clean. Of course, it was clean. Nothing was in there.”

Avalora’s fists tightened at her sides, nails digging into her palms. “But that’s not the point. Someone went to him. Someone wanted us under suspicion.”

“Who?” Norelle’s voice was sharp.

Avalora hesitated, jaw locking. Finally, she forced it out. “…It was Halo.”

The name cracked the tension wide open. VARL exchanged shocked looks.

Jorwyn froze for only a second before her whole body snapped rigidly. “Fucking Halo?” Her chair screeched back as she stood, voice loud enough to make everyone flinch. “Of course it’s her. Of course.”

“Jor—” Avalora started, but Jorwyn cut her off.

“She’s had it out for you since day one, Ava! Always running her mouth, always making digs when she thinks nobody’s listening—acting like you don’t deserve your spot.” Jorwyn’s voice shook with anger, her eyes burning. “And now she goes to the Chief? That’s not paranoia, that’s sabotage.”

Norelle, usually the one to pull Jorwyn back, did not move this time. She just sat still, watching Avalora carefully.

Avalora tried to keep her voice calm, steady, but it came out thinner than she wanted. “It doesn’t matter. There was nothing there, and the Chief saw that.”

“That’s not the point!” Jorwyn slammed her fist on the table, the sound reverberating through the office. “She wanted to put a target on your back. To make people question you. You think that just goes away because the cabinet was empty? People love rumors more than the truth.”

The room was heavy with her words. Garnet muttered, “She’s right.” Even Maerith, usually quiet, nodded stiffly.

Avalora’s lips pressed into a hard line. She turned slightly, shoulders tight, as if hiding the flicker in her eyes. Jorwyn caught it anyway—that tiny break in her armor, the way the accusation had hit deeper than she wanted to admit.

Inside, Jorwyn’s thoughts twisted darker. Halo. Always fucking Halo. Picking at Ava every chance she got. And now this? No one pulls a stunt this calculated unless they’ve done it before, unless they’ve got practice.

Her chest tightened. What if she’s the one who hired me? The client who wanted those cameras in Maerith’s place… who knew exactly how to strike at SCAR without ever lifting a hand. It fits. Goddamn, it fits too well.

For a moment, Jorwyn’s anger shifted. She wanted to go find Halo right then and there, to make her choke on every word she’d spread. If Halo’s behind that, too, then she’s not just Ava’s rival. She’s a fucking vulture circling all of them. Instead, she dragged a hand through her hair and muttered, “Goddamn snake.”

Maerith cleared her throat. “The chief said we’re under watch now. We can’t afford slip-ups.”

Avalora nodded once, curt and silent. She sat down stiffly at her desk, back ramrod straight. She did not look at Jorwyn, nor at anyone.

However, Jorwyn’s eyes lingered on her anyway, jaw tight. Her fury was not gone. If anything, it had only sharpened because nothing pissed her off more than seeing Avalora take the hit and act like she was fine.

Chapter Text

The message still glared at her from the cheap burner phone’s cracked screen, the words cold and final.

[Deadline is approaching. No more delays.]

Jorwyn had not moved for an hour. She stood across the street from Maerith’s condominium, hidden under the cover of night, eyes locked on the same veranda she had been watching for days.

She could recite the patterns by now—the way Maerith hung her laundry after evening shifts, the way the lights went out by eleven sharp, the way she occasionally lingered at the railing with her coffee, staring at the city with a tired, faraway look.

It was monotonous, suffocating, and it was driving Jorwyn insane.

Her thumb brushed the phone’s edge, tension bleeding into her jaw. She had handled dozens of missions before—planting bugs, tailing targets, shadowing dignitaries, even slipping into places most people would never dare to. Every one of those jobs, she had completed cleanly, alone. 

No assistance and no compromises.

However, this one was different.

They want proof. They want her watched. They want Jorwyn to complete this, no matter what it takes.

And Jorwyn knew she could not. Not with Maerith. Not with the lead nurse who trusted her team with her life. To invade her privacy this deeply, to compromise her safety. 

It was not just another job because to Jorwyn, it was outright betrayal.

She pressed her teeth together, eyes burning holes into the veranda across the way. 

I’ll find another way. I always do.

A faint shift behind her, causing the hairs on her neck to rise instantly. 

Of course, she was not alone.

Jorwyn pivoted sharply, instincts kicking in. Only one other person she knew carried that kind of presence—soft-footed, calculated, almost predatory in silence.

“Sol—” she started, expecting the fleet nurse who had been hovering around her for days, but the sight that unfolded before her made her heart stutter.

Solana was there, yes. But she was not just there. She was appearing.

One second, her form was translucent—like light bending around her, rippling faintly against the dark. The next, flesh and bone solidified before Jorwyn’s eyes, her figure resolving as though stitched back into reality.

For the first time in years, Jorwyn stepped back, breath lodged in her throat.

Solana’s eyes were wide as saucers. “Oh my god,” she whispered, hand flying to her mouth.

Jorwyn blinked, her mind grasping for reason, for grounding, but all that came out was, “Sol… what—You’re… what the fuck?”

Her words stumbled over themselves, tripping on disbelief.

Solana raised both hands, palms outward, her face flushed with panic. “Jorwyn, wait—let me explain!”

“How did you—” Jorwyn’s voice cracked, raw. “How the hell did you do that? All this time, you can—” She gestured wildly, as if pulling the words out of thin air. “—can turn invisible?”

“Jor, please.” Solana’s tone sharpened, desperation leaking through. “Hold on. Let me talk.”

Jorwyn’s breath came fast, ragged, until she forced herself to inhale, steady, forcing the rhythm back.

What the hell is going on with SCAR? Her mind screamed. First Avalora—healing people with a touch—and now Solana? What even is this team?

Solana lowered her hands, shoulders sinking as she exhaled heavily. “What you’ve seen, that’s exactly it. I have invisibility, Jor. I’ve had it since I was in second grade.”

The words landed like stones in Jorwyn’s gut.

“You’ve had it—what? Since you were a kid?”

“Yes.” Solana’s nod was small, almost ashamed. “One day, I just… found out I could do it, and I’ve been hiding it ever since.”

Jorwyn shook her head, disbelief written across her face. “You mean—this whole time. All those times you’ve snuck up on me, all those times you moved without a sound—it wasn’t because you’ve practiced stealth, it was this?”

“Yeah.” Solana’s mouth twisted. “And yes, that’s why I was so confident during that pill retrieval. Because if I had to, I could just slip in and out unseen.”

Jorwyn stared at her, the pieces slamming together too quickly. “And you’ve never told anyone?”

“Wala pa, Jor,” Solana said, her voice lowering. “Except you, right now.”

The weight of that admission pressed between them. For someone like Solana, whose personality leaned toward mischief and bravado, to keep a secret like this meant fear. 

It meant restraint.

“How the hell did you manage to hide this for so long?” Jorwyn muttered.

“You don’t know how badly I wanted to show it off,” Solana admitted, her tone almost sheepish. 

And Jorwyn could believe it. If Solana had her way, she would have been pranking everyone in VARL and SCAR with this ability, tormenting them with phantom touches and disappearing acts. “But I was afraid. Afraid of what it meant. Afraid of what it could do, of its consequences. I haven’t used it in a long time.”

The word afraid lodged itself in Jorwyn’s ears. She narrowed her eyes. “Afraid of… what consequences?”

Solana’s laugh was hollow. “That’s the problem, Jor. Hindi ko alam if anong consequences nito. I never pushed it. I never wanted to find out the hard way.”

“But you just used it now,” Jorwyn said slowly.

Solana nodded. “Alam ko. Siguro dahil… I don’t worry about you. I knew if you ever found out, you wouldn’t snitch. You wouldn’t—” She paused, gaze softening. “You wouldn’t be afraid of me.”

Jorwyn blinked. “How can you say so?”

“I just…” Solana’s lips twitched into a shy smile. “I feel like my secret’s safe with you. Not because I know your secret, ah,” she added quickly, throwing her hands up.

That pulled a sharp laugh out of Jorwyn despite herself. “Tch. Fair enough.”

But her suspicion lingered. “You’re not using this to follow me around, right? Or anyone else?”

“Oh my god, Jor!” Solana’s indignant tone almost cracked the tension. “Relax. The only time I used it on you was that night, when I caught you here. I swear.” She crossed her heart dramatically. “And I’m not gonna blackmail you or anything either. We’re even.”

Jorwyn studied her for a long beat before her lips curved into the faintest smile. “Fine. But you’re telling me more about this later. For now—” she gestured at the veranda again, her face sobering. “Mission.”

Solana stepped closer, peering past her to the distant silhouette of Maerith’s unit. “Still watching Maerith?”

Jorwyn nodded.

“She’s not even there.”

“I know,” Jorwyn admitted, shoulders sagging. “I just… don’t know what to do anymore, Sol. They want results. They want those freaky cameras on her wall, and I can’t do it.”

“Then let’s make her leave,” Solana said, her voice turning sly. She nudged Jorwyn aside, leaning into her line of sight. “Let’s force her to move.”

Jorwyn snapped her head toward her, incredulous. “Seriously? You think she’s just gonna pack up and go on a random Wednesday night?”

Solana’s grin widened, dark and daring. “Not if she wants to. But if she doesn’t feel safe here, then she’ll have no choice.”

Jorwyn’s stomach dropped. “…Sol. No.”

However,  Solana’s eyes glittered. “Use the fire hazards against her.”

It hit Jorwyn like a slap. “Don’t tell me you’re suggesting what I think you are.”

“Don’t worry.” Solana’s grin was almost wolfish. “I’ll do it naman, not you. If anyone’s conscience takes the hit, it’s mine.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious.”

“Sol—”

“Come on, Jor. You and I both know it’ll work. A small fire lang naman. Just enough to scare her. Just enough to make the 3DS roll in and clear it up in minutes.” Solana leaned closer, voice dropping. “Nobody gets hurt, but Mae won’t stay another night after that.”

Jorwyn’s chest heaved, anger and disbelief warring inside her. “You’re a nurse. You save lives. How can you even think about causing harm—”

Solana cut her off, her tone sharp. “And you’re a firefighter. You run headfirst into danger. Don’t act like you haven’t been reckless before.”

The words stung.

“Why are you hesitating now?” Solana pressed, eyes narrowing. “All those stories you told me about your other jobs, your side missions—you never cared about the consequences. So why now?”

“Because this is different,” Jorwyn snapped. Her voice dropped, low and dangerous. “This is my team. If they ever found out—”

“Hindi nila malalaman, Jorwyn.” Solana’s voice softened, almost coaxing. “This will stay between us. I promise. We’ll bury this secret six feet under.”

The phrase made Jorwyn huff out a bitter laugh. I’d like to see you try to bury me, she thought darkly.

But Solana was relentless. “We’re out of time, Jor. You know I’m right.”

Silence stretched. Jorwyn stared at the ground, at the faint cracks in the pavement, before finally dragging her hands down her face.

“Fine.”

Solana’s smile snapped back, triumphant. “I knew you would come around.”

Together, they crouched in the shadows, voices hushed as they began to plot. 

Solana outlined the access points she had scouted, how she would slip into the power room and tamper with the wiring. Jorwyn, despite herself, found her instincts sharpening—calculating angles, predicting responses, ensuring the fire would be small enough, and containable.

Every word tasted like ash on her tongue.

She told herself she was only letting Solana take the reins because she had no choice. That she had found a way to stop it before it went too far.

But as the night deepened around them, and Solana’s confidence filled the air, Jorwyn could not shake the gnawing truth clawing at her chest.

For the first time in years, I’m not in control, and that terrifies me more than the fire ever could.

The city slept uneasily.

From her vantage point across the narrow street, Jorwyn’s entire body thrummed with tension. Her palms were slick despite the cool night air, every nerve screaming 

Don’t let this happen. 

Yet she had agreed. Against every instinct, she had agreed.

Solana crouched beside her, her grin sharp and unbothered, as if this were nothing more than another prank pulled on their unsuspecting teammates. She had changed into darker scrubs, her hair tied back, a small backpack slung over her shoulders.

“You ready?” Solana whispered.

“No,” Jorwyn muttered, and her jaw clenched. “But you’re going to do it anyway.”

Solana’s smirk softened into something almost reassuring. “Relax, ka lang diyan, babygirl. It’s not like we’re torching the place. Just a little… faulty wiring.” She gave a playful wiggle of her fingers. “Cause panic, make smoke, and ring the alarms. That’s it.”

Jorwyn’s stomach twisted. “You’re way too excited about this.”

“And you’re way too worried.” Solana slung the bag tighter on her shoulder and rose in one smooth motion. And then she flickered. Her form blurred, shimmered like heat haze, then vanished entirely.

Jorwyn exhaled through her nose, grounding herself against the wall she leaned on. 

Right. Invisible. She can do that.

The world felt wrong with Solana gone. Silent, except for the faint hum of the city. Jorwyn’s gaze remained glued to the condo, every window lit faintly, curtains drawn. Somewhere inside was Maerith, who is unaware of the storm they were about to unleash.

This is insane. I should stop her. I should walk away.

However, she did not. She could not.

Minutes crawled, and her heart ticked in her chest like a second clock.

Then, faintly, her earpiece crackled. Solana’s whisper, smug as always, “Nakapasok na ko.”

Jorwyn pressed the device tighter. “Don’t linger.”

“Copy, mom,” Solana teased.

Jorwyn rolled her eyes heavenward. 

Why do I put up with you?

Through her binoculars, Jorwyn tracked the faintest disturbances in the shadows of the ground floor—security lights that flickered as though someone had brushed past, doors left ajar an inch too wide. Solana was moving with practiced ease, her power cloaking her as if she were smoke herself.

The wait stretched. Then a snap. The kind of sound that prickled the back of Jorwyn’s neck.

She stiffened. “Solana. What was that?”

Her earpiece hissed. “Chill ka lang sabi. Just popped open the power room.” A pause. “Wires look like a rat’s nest, Jor. This place is begging to burn.”

Jorwyn swore under her breath, teeth digging into her lip.

Minutes later, she heard it. The faint whir of circuits overloading. A soft crackle, the hum of electricity sparking against metal.

Her pulse spiked. “Solana—”

“Easy,” Solana’s voice came, but now it was laced with strain. “Just—give it a second.”

Another crack. Then—fwoosh.

Jorwyn’s entire body lurched upright as an orange glow bloomed from the ground-floor window. Small, but alive and hungry.

“Oh, fuck,” she hissed.

The smoke followed fast, curling upward like a serpent in the night, and then the shrill scream of the alarm split the air.

The building awoke in chaos.

Lights flickered on across units, curtains shoved aside, panicked voices spilling into the corridors. Footsteps thundered down stairwells. Someone screamed sunog! at the top of their lungs, the word slicing through the air with primal terror.

Jorwyn’s chest locked tight. 

This is too much. Too fast.

She fumbled for her comm. “Solana, get out! Now.”

Her earpiece crackled, but no voice came back.

“Sol—”

“I’m already moving,” Solana finally whispered, breathless. “Don’t piss yourself, Jor. I’m clear.”

But Jorwyn’s relief was smothered by the sight across the street.

Maerith’s veranda lit up. The sliding doors flung open, and there she was with her hair loose, still in her night clothes, eyes wide with alarm as smoke billowed into the hallway beyond her. She leaned dangerously far over the railing, scanning below.

“Shit,” Jorwyn muttered, her instincts thrumming to move, to run inside, to drag Maerith out herself. But she stayed rooted. She could not blow her cover.

Sirens pierced the night.

Jorwyn turned sharply toward the corner, heart hammering as red-and-blue lights cut across the buildings. She recognized the engine even before it braked to a screeching halt.

3DS.

Her brothers-in-arms, tumbling out in practiced precision. Helmets strapped, hoses unraveling, voices barking orders over the din.

Jorwyn’s stomach twisted into knots. 

They shouldn’t even be here tonight. Damn it, Sol.

She could almost hear Eon shouting, his voice cutting like steel. “Secure the perimeter! Check the power room! Ron, with me!”

Water hissed as hoses connected, pressure building. The orange glow licked higher, fed by faulty wires and dust-choked vents. The sprinkler system overhead groaned once, then sputtered uselessly, rust having eaten its bones.

Maerith shouted something Jorwyn could not hear, waving frantically from her veranda. She coughed hard, dragging her shirt over her mouth, her other hand gripping the railing as if debating whether to climb down.

“No,” Jorwyn whispered under her breath. 

Don’t do it, Mae.

And then she saw Win, the fire captain, barking orders sharp and fast. His eyes tracked the smoke curling up toward the residential floors. He gestured, and two of his men broke off, sprinting for the stairwell, axes in hand.

Jorwyn’s fists curled so tightly her nails bit her palms. Every muscle in her body screamed to join them, to rush into that smoke and take Maerith by the wrist and haul her out.

But she could not. She was not on shift. She was not even supposed to be here.

All she could do was watch.

The smoke thickened. Neighbors spilled into the parking lot, clutching children, clutching bags as panic rolled like a wave.

From her earpiece, Solana whispered, almost giddy, “See? Just like I said. They’ve got it.”

Jorwyn wanted to rip the comm out of her ear. 

You don’t see Mae choking on that balcony.

The hoses roared to life, a powerful jet slamming into the window below, steam rising as the flames hissed in protest. The glow dimmed, sputtered, then flared again as though unwilling to surrender.

Maerith disappeared inside for a terrible second, swallowed by smoke.

Jorwyn’s heart seized. “Mae—” The name escaped her before she could stop it.

Then salvation came as one of the firefighters emerged from the stairwell, guiding Maerith forward, an arm braced protectively around her shoulders. She stumbled, coughing, but alive. 

Alive.

Jorwyn sagged against the wall, every tendon in her body trembling.

Her team—her brothers—they worked like clockwork, stamping out the fire with precision, forcing the blaze back into submission. Within minutes, the roar dwindled to smoke, then to steam, the night air acrid with the smell of charred plastic and waterlogged wood.

But Jorwyn could not unclench her fists. She could not ease the guilt thrumming like wildfire in her chest.

She had watched it unfold. She had let Solana start it, and now 3DS had been the ones forced to risk their lives to end it.

Maerith was led out into the street, wrapped in a blanket, her expression dazed, fury beginning to bloom beneath her shock. She shouted something at the chief—Jorwyn could almost imagine the words: This building was unsafe. Those sprinklers were dead. We could have died.

Jorwyn swallowed hard, her throat burning.

Solana’s voice chirped in her ear, too light, too casual: “See? No casualties. Just a scare. Mission accomplished.”

However, Jorwyn’s chest only tightened further because as she watched Maerith’s figure shake with anger and fear, she realized the truth.

This was not just a scare. This was still betrayal, and it had her fingerprints all over it.

The call had gone out in the group chat, no sirens, no orders, but just a rush of urgency that spread like fire through VARL and SCAR alike. Even though their shifts were officially over, nobody hesitated. Within an hour, the entire unit was pouring into the condo complex where Maerith’s home had nearly gone up in flames.

The street outside was still damp from hoses, and the acrid bite of burnt wiring clung to the air.

Avalora was the first through the lobby, Selene on her heels. Both of them sprinted across the tiled floor, hair in disarray, coats thrown over casual clothes. Avalora skidded to a halt the second she saw Maerith, slouched against the wall near the elevators, her face pale and dazed.

“Maerith!” Avalora burst out, voice sharp with panic. She dropped beside the nurse, gripping her shoulders as if to anchor her in place. “Are you okay? My god, you scared me—”

Selene crouched low, taking one of Maerith’s hands gently, her voice steadier but still colored with worry. “Breathe. You’re safe now. Just breathe, alright? No one’s hurt.”

Maerith gave a slow nod, but her eyes were glassy, unfocused. “I… I didn’t even realize there was smoke until the alarm went off. If they hadn’t—” She stopped, voice breaking, and tried again. “I could’ve been trapped inside.”

Behind them, the rest of VARL appeared together like a second wave, uniforms replaced by mismatched shirts and hoodies, but still moving as one. Concern radiated off them in different ways, while Win’s furrowed brows, Ron’s nervous pacing, and Eon’s clenched jaw. Mar had his hands shoved into his pockets, but his gaze was fixed firmly on Maerith, like keeping her in sight might keep her safe.

And then, separately, Jorwyn arrived.

She had made sure of that. She had parked farther down the street, given herself a few minutes to collect her breath, and paste on the same mask of worry that everyone else wore. She had to look like she had just come running, not like she had been watching from the shadows the entire time.

She kept her steps quick but not too quick as she crossed the lobby, her boots thudding against the tile. She knew her act had to be flawless. Inside, her stomach twisted so tight it felt like knots of barbed wire.

Solana slipped in a few minutes later, hair messy as though she had rushed straight from home. She came from the opposite direction, her expression just as perfectly arranged into concern. The two of them had planned it down to the smallest detail—different routes, staggered entrances, no trace of collusion.

“Move out of that place, Mae.”

Win’s voice cut across the worried murmur of the group. His tone was sharp, not unkind, but so blunt that the words landed like a punch in Jorwyn’s gut.

“We can’t see you being in that situation again. Muntik na kami sumugod sa unit mo at hayaan yung iba.”

The firefighters nodded grimly in agreement, but for Jorwyn, the words sank deeper. Her pulse stuttered in her throat. For a second, she swore he was looking right at her, as if he knew, as if he could see the guilt carved into her bones.

She darted a glance at Solana. The nurse was standing stiffly off to the side, arms crossed tight, her chest rising with a heavy sigh. Their eyes met for a heartbeat. Jorwyn did not need words; she could read the weight there, the silent admission that both of them were carrying the same crime in their lungs.

“I think it’s the perfect time to move na, Mae,” Norelle said gently, her voice tugging Maerith back to the present.

Selene added, “We can take all of your belongings out right now. And you can stay with any of us tonight. Don’t argue, Mae. Please.”

“You can stay with me tonight,” Solana said suddenly, stepping forward. Her voice was calm, carefully measured, but Jorwyn could hear the strain hiding underneath. “I’ll assist you tomorrow in finding a unit. I think may spare pa sa floor namin mismo.”

Avalora’s head snapped up. “Yeah, that’s right. The one in the farthest corner actually got emptied last week. I asked the front desk earlier.”

Jorwyn felt her chest tighten again. 

Of course, Avalora would already know. Of course, she had been keeping tabs, thoughtful as always. For a flicker of a moment, Jorwyn hated herself more than she thought possible. Avalora’s eyes were shining with concern for Maerith, while Jorwyn herself was complicit in nearly putting the lead nurse’s life at risk.

“Thank you, guys.” Maerith’s voice was hoarse but steady now, gratitude written across her expression. “Thanks, boys,” she added, nodding at VARL. “I was terrified kanina, and I’m glad it was you who did the rescue.”

The firefighters gave her tired but genuine smiles.

“If it’s okay, let’s move my things out tonight,” Maerith said at last. “And yes, I’ll gladly stay with either Avalora or Solana. Let’s have that empty room booked as soon as possible.”

That night turned into an unexpected operation of its own. VARL and SCAR, usually split between station shifts and duties, worked side by side to pack boxes, haul bags, and carry out furniture. Laughter occasionally cut through the tension, someone making a joke about the chaos of Maerith’s hoarding habits or how heavy her bookshelf was.

Jorwyn carried her share, but every box felt heavier than it should have. Every smile she offered felt cracked, hollow. Around her, the team’s camaraderie buzzed warm and genuine, but she felt like a fraud standing in their light.

3DS eventually excused themselves, their uniforms damp with sweat and soot, reminding everyone that their shift was not yet done. 

“We still have reporting to do,” Eon said simply, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. They clapped Maerith on the shoulder, promised to visit soon, then disappeared into the night.

By the time the last of Maerith’s things were stacked neatly in Avalora’s spare room, it was well past midnight. The exhaustion in everyone’s bones was softened only by relief.

“Sol, ikaw na bahala kay Maerith,” Jorwyn said quietly, already halfway into her truck. She had one boot on the step, one hand gripping the door, when Solana appeared at her side.

“Don’t worry about anything, Jor.” Solana’s voice was soft, threaded with fatigue but also with iron. “Let’s leave everything that happened tonight in the past. Like nothing happened.”

Her eyes held Jorwyn’s for a long moment. There was no smile, no humor—just the heavy weight of a pact neither of them could break.

Jorwyn gave a stiff nod and climbed into the truck.

The drive home blurred past her in patches of streetlight and shadows. Her mind replayed everything on a cruel loop—the flicker of flames in the hallway, the crackle of burning wires, the sight of Maerith’s stunned face as she was pulled to safety.

Guilt gnawed at her ribs until she thought it might eat her alive. She told herself she had done worse things before, for worse reasons. She told herself this was just another mission, another job. She gaslit herself into believing it was necessary, that the end justified the means.

But she could not shake the truth: the mission would never have been successful without Solana’s help. And that fact twisted her gratitude into something heavier, sharper.

When she finally collapsed onto her bed, still in half her clothes, her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Her heart jolted. For one agonizing second, she thought it was her employers already—demanding proof, demanding results, maybe even already aware of the fire.

But the name glowing on her screen made her chest loosen in relief.

Avalora.

[I hope you went home safe, Jorwyn. Ikaw na lang malayo sa amin eh.]

The corners of Jorwyn’s lips tugged upward before she could stop them. She sat up, typing quickly.

[I got home safely, Av. Don’t worry. ]

[VARL’s been bugging me about moving.]

[On our next day off, I’ll definitely start looking na din.]

The typing bubbles appeared, then Avalora’s reply:

[That’s nice to know.]
[Good night, Wyn. See you tomorrow :)]

Jorwyn leaned back against the headboard, heart softening at the simple warmth of it.

[Good night, Av :)] 

She sent back, her smile widening.

For a brief moment, the guilt quieted. The noise of the fire, the weight of Solana’s pact, all of it dulled under the glow of Avalora’s concern.

Until another ping cut through the night.

Her stomach dropped as she read it.

[527 terminated. Execution no longer required.]

[We’ll be in touch. Your loyalty is… noted.]

The words burned brighter than any fire. 

Her grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles ached.  She exhaled shakily, relief crashing over her like a tide. 

It was over. Finally, it was over, and yet, lying there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, Jorwyn could not decide if that knowledge made her feel free or just more hollow than before.

The supply room smelled faintly of alcohol and iron shelves, every box labeled and stacked with military precision. But the air was heavy, waiting to split.

“Maerith, someone said you left Marigold?” Halo’s tone carried that familiar edge—too light to sound friendly, too sharp to be innocent.

Maerith’s eyes flicked up from her clipboard. “Who told you that?”

Jorwyn, Garnet, and the rest of SCAR stiffened. 

Halo’s team was stationed in Supply Room 4, not the same one as SCAR, and they should not even be here yet, as it was still too early for their shit, but here she was—smug, early, and fishing for something she shouldn’t have known.

“Heard it from somewhere,” Halo said, voice almost sing-song. “So did you ba?”

“Yes,” Maerith replied, calm as stone.

Halo’s lips curved into a knife. “Guess it’s easy to run when you’ve got others cleaning up your mess.”

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.

Where did that even come from? Jorwyn thought, pulse spiking. Her grip tightened on the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening. Garnet’s head snapped up too, eyes narrowing.

“What did you say?” Avalora’s voice cut in, sharp as glass. It was the first time Jorwyn had ever heard her sound that cold, like ice snapping underfoot.

Halo only shrugged, her grin widening. “Chief got a tip about your cabinet, didn’t he? Maybe instead of pointing fingers at me, you should think about why anyone would believe it in the first place.”

“That’s enough,” Avalora snapped, standing so abruptly her chair screeched back. Her fists trembled at her sides, betraying just how much control she was clinging to. “You endangered our entire unit.”

For a heartbeat, something mean flickered across Halo’s face—her mask cracking. Then she leaned in, eyes glinting. “Maybe someone finally needed to show BlueSent that you aren’t untouchable.”

Jorwyn’s chair scraped back as she stood. The room seemed to tilt as she stalked forward, step after deliberate step. “Say that again,” she growled, each word dragging low from her throat. “One more time, and I swear—”

But Avalora’s hand caught her arm. Hot. Firm. Grounding. It was the only thing that stopped her from lunging.

“Jor. Don’t.” Avalora’s voice was low, not pleading but commanding.

Halo laughed, bitter and sharp. “Of course you’d let your watchdog off her leash. That’s all she is, isn’t she? A dog chasing whoever tells her to heel.”

Jorwyn’s breath burst out of her nose, fire in her chest. It took everything in her not to break free of Avalora’s grip. She doesn’t get to talk like that. Not about me. Not about us.

“That’s enough.” Avalora’s voice was steadier now, deadly calm. Her hand left Jorwyn’s arm as she turned fully toward Halo. “Get out.”

Halo blinked, mockery faltering. “Excuse me? I think you forgot you’re talking to a lead nurse.”

“You heard me.” Avalora did not flinch. Her tone dropped lower, steady as steel. “You’re finished here. Leave the room before I drag you out myself.”

The clock on the wall ticked once, twice. No one breathed.

Halo’s smile slithered back, but it was venom now, no disguise left. “Fine,” she hissed. “But you’ll regret this. All of you.”

She swept out, the slam of the door reverberating down the hall, leaving behind an echo that clung to the air like smoke.

Jorwyn stared at the door long after it shut, fists clenched, Avalora’s touch still burning on her arm.

No one moved at first. The door’s echo still clung to the walls, as though the room itself had not recovered from Halo’s storm.

Garnet was the first to break. She exhaled loudly, muttering, “What the hell was that?” Her fists had been clenched the whole time, nails digging crescents into her palms.

Norelle let out a low whistle. “That woman has some nerve showing her face here. Did you see the way she—ugh.” She shook her head, words failing her.

Maerith, still seated, lowered her clipboard slowly onto the table. Her expression was unreadable, but her jaw worked like she was grinding down everything she wanted to say. Because of me, she thought. “That whole mess, the cabinet, the move—Halo only has ammo because of me.”

“Don’t,” Avalora said suddenly, voice softer but cutting through Maerith’s guilt like a scalpel. “Don’t take her words in. None of it.”

Maerith blinked, surprised. Avalora rarely spoke so directly outside of her nurse’s duties.

However, Jorwyn was not even listening. She was still standing where Avalora had stopped her, arm tingling where that hand had been. Her breath came sharp, uneven, like she had just come back from a sprint. 

She called me a dog. A watchdog. She thinks that’s all I am? No. No one gets to spit on what I do. On what I am.

“Jor?” Garnet’s voice broke through, tentative. She had never seen her that close to snapping before.

Jorwyn did not answer. Her eyes were still fixed on the door, jaw clenched so hard it ached.

“She’s rattled us on purpose,” Solana finally said, leaning against the shelves with her arms crossed. For once, her tone wasn’t teasing. “She came early, spilled things she shouldn’t know, threw her jabs, then walked out after making sure we were bleeding on the inside. Classic Halo.”

Norelle nodded grimly. “Yeah. And I hate that it worked.”

Avalora turned toward Jorwyn then, her gaze steady. “Wyn.”

The rescuer blinked, finally dragging her eyes away from the door to meet hers.

“She’s not worth it,” Avalora said. Her tone was not scolding, but layered—firm, steady, with something else underneath. Something that almost sounded like worry.

Jorwyn’s fists finally loosened. Slowly and painfully. She let out a low exhale through her teeth. 

Not worth it. Not worth it. Then why does it still burn?

Maerith cleared her throat, voice small. “I… I didn’t mean for this to spread. None of this should’ve—”

“Mae.” Avalora cut her off again, gentler now. “This isn’t on you. Don’t let her dig claws where they don’t belong.”

For a long moment, Maerith only nodded, staring at the floor.

Solana broke the silence again, this time with a crooked smirk, though her eyes were still sharp. “Well, if you ask me, Halo’s only acting this desperate because she knows she’s losing grip. Cornered animals bite hardest.”

“That wasn’t just a bite,” Garnet muttered.

“No,” Jorwyn said finally, voice low but steady now. She turned, eyes hard. “That was a warning shot.”

The weight of her words pressed down on the room. Everyone felt it. Everyone knew it. Halo was not finished—not by a long shot.

But as the others exchanged uneasy glances, Avalora’s gaze stayed on Jorwyn. Quiet, searching, unreadable.

And Jorwyn, for the first time that day, had to look away.

The day after the confrontation, the tension still clung to SCAR like smoke that refused to clear. They tried to shake it off—immersing themselves in drills, reports, little jokes between Solana and Norelle—but now and then, someone’s gaze would flick toward the door, half-expecting Halo to barge in again with that smug grin.

Whispers began trickling in from the other units. Nothing direct, nothing confirmed, but enough to stir unease.

“I heard someone from Halo’s crew was called into the Chief’s office yesterday,” one of the junior nurses murmured to Maerith during shift change.

“Really?” Maerith asked carefully, feigning disinterest.

“Yeah. Don’t know why, pero parang big deal. They looked pale coming out.”

In the cafeteria, Garnet overheard two medics from another wing.

“They say Halo’s team might get reassigned.”

“No way. She’s too proud. I don’t think she would take it.”

“Exactly. That’s why it makes sense. Word is, her old man’s got other plans for her.”

When Garnet relayed it later, Solana only scoffed. “Reassigned? Please, I hope she gets exiled. You don’t kick up that much dust without choking on it eventually.”

But the rumors did not stop there. A few days later, during a late-night report filing, Jorwyn caught a snippet between two firefighters she did not recognize.

“—Chief’s been livid since that tip-off. He said if he finds out who planted it, heads are gonna roll.”

“You think it was Halo?”

“Come on. Who else would be reckless enough? And she’s been too quiet lately.”

Too quiet. That stuck with Jorwyn long after the voices faded. Halo was not the type to slink away. If she was silent, it meant she was plotting or cornered. Neither option sat right with her.

Even Avalora, usually so focused on her patients, had begun to notice. When she caught Jorwyn lingering in the hall one night, staring at the stairwell like she expected someone to come storming up, Avalora asked, “Still thinking about her?”

Jorwyn stiffened. “Someone has to.”

“She already burned her bridges.” Avalora’s voice was steady, but her hand curled slightly at her side. “Whatever happens next… It’s out of our hands.”

Out of our hands, Jorwyn echoed bitterly in her head. Then why does it feel like she’s still pulling strings around us?

The tension reached a peak when another rumor slithered in, but this time from the supply wing itself.

“She’s been fighting with her father,” a clerk whispered while handing Solana requisition papers. “Shouting matches. Something about family business, responsibilities, and Australia. The walls aren’t as soundproof as they think.”

By the time Solana slipped the news to the others, the entire crew felt the ground shifting. Halo’s foundation was not just cracked as it also crumbling.

And though no one said it aloud, they all felt the same shadow of dread because people like Halo did not go quietly.

The rumors alone were enough to keep everyone on edge, but it was the sighting that sealed it.

It was late, near midnight, when Jorwyn stayed behind to finish a security check on the corridors. The halls were dim, the overhead lights buzzing faintly, the sterile air holding that peculiar stillness of after-hours BlueSent. She was used to silence by now—used to the calm lull after chaos.

But then she felt that prickling along her neck, the instinct of being watched.

She turned the corner, and there she was.

Halo. 

Leaning casually against the wall at the far end of the corridor, like she had been waiting. No uniform this time, just her jacket slung over her shoulders, hands tucked into her pockets, but her presence carried the same sharpness as ever.

Jorwyn froze for a second; the only sound was the hum of the lights.

“Ikaw,” Jorwyn said, voice low.

Halo’s lips curved—not quite a smile, more like a blade sliding free of its sheath. “Are you still guarding your precious unit like a dog at the gate?”

Jorwyn’s fists clenched. “Say what you came to say.”

“I didn’t come to say anything,” Halo replied smoothly, pushing off the wall and taking a slow step forward. “Just thought I’d take one last look before everything changes.”

Her words sent a ripple of unease through Jorwyn. “Changes?”

Halo tilted her head, eyes glittering in the dim light. “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day. Either way, don’t think for a second you’ve won.”

Jorwyn’s jaw tightened. There it is again, she thought. That promise of unfinished business. Even when she’s cornered, she bites.

Halo’s gaze flicked past her shoulder, toward the closed office doors where SCAR sometimes gathered. Her expression softened into something darker, quieter. 

“Avalora…” she said, almost to herself, like the name was an old wound she could not stop prodding. Then she met Jorwyn’s eyes again and smirked. “Take good care of her, watchdog. You’ll need to.”

Before Jorwyn could snap back, Halo turned, disappearing down the stairwell with an echo of footsteps that seemed to linger long after she was gone.

Jorwyn stood there, breath tight, the weight of that encounter sinking into her chest. She did not tell the others—not yet. Not when all she had was a shadow of a warning, a venomous farewell that might not even be the last.

But later, when she sat in the dark, her mind replayed Halo’s smirk again and again, like a scar that refused to heal.

And then news about Halo’s team disbanding spread like wildfire in BlueSent. Some of the rookies whispered in the corners of the bay, some of the nurses exchanged wide-eyed glances. To everyone, it seemed abrupt but believable—Halo was from money, after all, and taking over the family business in Australia was a convenient cover story.

Inside SCAR’s office, the air was heavier. Avalora slammed the newspaper on the desk, brows furrowed.

“Of course she gets to leave just like that,” she muttered. “After all the damage, all the tension she caused here—she just packs up and runs?”

“Better she’s gone than still lurking around,” Selene said firmly, though her jaw was tight.

Norelle leaned back in her chair, thoughtful. “It’s too neat. But… what matters is the Fire Chief bought it, and Halo’s out of our way. That’s already a win.”

Maerith let out a slow breath, still pale from the near-tragedy of her unit. “I don’t even care about the reason. I’m just relieved it’s over. Makakahinga na tayong lahat nang maluwag.”

There were nods all around, some reluctant, some genuine.

Jorwyn, leaning casually against the wall, kept her face carefully blank. Her insides, however, were anything but calm. She knew better. Her teeth clenched, a flicker of rage burning behind her quiet exterior.

Solana caught her eye from across the room. Just one look was enough to remind them both: no one else can know. Not Avalora, not Maerith, not even Norelle. Their little side mission, the wires they tampered with, the fire that almost cost lives—those truths would stay buried.

Avalora’s voice snapped Jorwyn from her thoughts. “You’re quiet,” she said, suspicion in her eyes.

Jorwyn shrugged, forcing a small smirk. “Just… processing. Honestly, Av, I’m with Mae. At least she’s out of our hair. That’s what matters.”

Avalora studied her for a beat longer before sighing. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Solana clapped her hands together, breaking the heaviness. “Then let’s move forward. No more looking back. We survived Halo’s mess, and that’s what counts.”

There was a collective hum of agreement, some shoulders easing.

But when the team filed out, Jorwyn lingered, gaze fixed on the empty desk that once belonged to Halo. 

She tried to bury SCAR. Tried to bury Avalora, and she nearly succeeded.

As they left the room, Solana bumped her shoulder against hers, low enough for only Jorwyn to hear, “I got the real news, babygirl,” she murmured.

Jorwyn’s brow arched. “What?”

Solana leaned in, lowering her voice. “I sneaked into the Fire Chief’s office again. You wouldn’t believe the argument I overheard.”

“You used your invisibility again?” Jorwyn muttered, half incredulous, half impressed.

“Ano pa nga ba?” Solana smirked. “Anyway, turns out—Halo’s father was there. They weren’t talking about any damn family business. Nagsasagutan sila. Apparently, the Fire Chief found out the truth straight from her father’s mouth.”

Jorwyn narrowed her eyes. “Spit it out, Sol.”

Solana grinned, drawing it out. “Guess who ordered you to plant the contraband in our cabinet?”

Jorwyn’s stomach sank, even though she already knew the answer. “…Don’t tell me—”

“It was Halo all along,” Solana cut in, eyes sharp with the satisfaction of confirming it. “She was the one behind the painkiller being planted.”

“That prick,” Jorwyn hissed, fury boiling in her chest. She clenched her fists so tight her knuckles ached. Of course, it was her. Always had a vendetta against Avalora and her team.

However, Solana was not finished. She leaned closer, whispering, her tone suddenly teasing again. “You know what’s even more shocking? I don’t know if this’ll make you feel less guilty or make you want to punch walls.”

“Sol—spill it. Stop dragging it out, or I’ll actually kick you like I’ve been meaning to since day one,” Jorwyn snapped, jaw tight.

The fleet nurse burst out laughing, unable to help herself. “God, I love rattling you up. But listen, babygirl—the wirings I saw yesterday? You should’ve seen how chaotic it was. If you’d been there, you’d be cursing whoever set that trap.”

Jorwyn frowned, the confusion creeping in. “…What are you getting at?”

“Si Halo na naman,” Solana said, her grin dropping into something serious. “She was the one who ordered the wiring messed up. That’s why when I shifted one wire, everything almost blew. It was designed so that even the smallest wrong move would’ve burned Marigold to the ground.”

A heavy silence fell.

Jorwyn’s breath caught in her throat. For a moment, her rage was so sharp it was almost dizzying. “She… she tried to burn down the place herself?”

Solana nodded. “Yeah. My guess? She wanted VARL caught in it. Make it look like you were incompetent—or worse, guilty.”

Jorwyn’s chest tightened with both anger and guilt. Her mind spun back to Avalora, to how close everything had been to disaster. Her voice dropped low, rough with barely leashed rage. 

“Well, even if that’s the case, Sol… we still had the intention to set the fire. That doesn’t wash our hands clean. But…” her jaw clenched, eyes narrowing, “…my rage against that beast just doubled.”

The two stood in silence, the weight of their choices pressing heavily.

Finally, Jorwyn let out a sharp exhale, forcing a wry smile to her lips. “At least one good thing came out of this. I don’t have to worry about some client wanting my head anymore.”

“Hell yeah!” Solana said, breaking the tension with her usual grin. She wrapped an arm around Jorwyn’s shoulders and started steering her back toward the office. “But you’re still treating me for the massive assist. Steak dinner, wagyu, no arguments.”

Jorwyn snorted, shaking her head. “Fine. But you’re also spilling everything about that invisibility trick of yours. No more hiding it from me.”

“Oh?” Solana teased, flashing her a smirk. “Getting curious about my secrets, babygirl?”

Jorwyn rolled her eyes, but the corner of her lips tugged upward despite herself. “Don’t push your luck.”

As Solana’s laughter echoed softly between them, the weight on Jorwyn’s chest did not quite lift. She forced her own chuckle, let herself be dragged along by the nurse’s easy warmth, but her mind would not still.

Halo’s smirk in the corridor. The threat in her voice. The knowledge that the fire, the wires, the planted contraband—every piece of chaos—had her fingerprints all over it.

Jorwyn’s jaw tightened. 

She’s gone, but her shadow’s still here. Lurking. Waiting. And if she ever comes back…

Her hand brushed against her side, as if grounding herself. 

This time, I won’t let her get anywhere near Avalora. Not her. Not Sol. Not any of them.

Chapter Text

Days bled into weeks, and for a while, Jorwyn allowed herself to believe that things had finally steadied. 

Drills with 3DS. Joint rescues with SCAR. Nights filled with anonymous messages from her employers pulling her into impossible side jobs she completed without question. It was all routine—dangerous, exhausting, but routine nonetheless.

Yet beneath it all, the weight never left. Avalora’s secret. Solana’s secret. Her own double life. And that tingling on her chest, she did not want to accept. Four ticking bombs pressing on her ribs with every breath she took.

Jorwyn had no idea that one of them would detonate first.

It happened on a sun-scorched afternoon at a family resort out of town. The report they received sounded almost laughable as a grown man stuck atop a tall coconut tree after climbing it on a dare. But upon arrival, VARL-SCAR found the man clinging to the trunk, trembling like a leaf, arms and legs mottled with bruises, his shouts for help growing weaker by the minute.

“Why is he even up there?” Norelle asked, frowning at the man swaying above them.

The private resort owner's youngest son stepped forward, sheepish. “It was just a dare. We didn’t think he’d actually do it. He was bragging that he could, so we let him. Now…” He scratched the back of his neck, glancing upward. “Now he can’t get down.”

Jorwyn tilted her head back, watching the man cling like a desperate child. His knuckles were white, his feet already bleeding from scraping bark. The heat shimmered in the air, and she knew that if he slipped, he would not survive the fall.

Fortunately, Garnet was already maneuvering the long ladder from the truck, its metal groaning as it extended upward. 

Jorwyn strapped on her harness and climbed into the basket, her body moving on instinct. The ascent was steady, mechanical, the ground shrinking beneath her boots.

“Mister Logan,” she called out as they drew near, her voice calm, firm, the tone she had practiced countless times for panicked victims. “I’m here to help you go down. I need you to trust me, okay? Let go of the trunk, just a little. I’ve got you.”

The man’s lips quivered, eyes wild. “I—I can’t. Please, don’t let me fall!”

“You won’t fall. Look at me.” She locked her gaze with his, extending her gloved hand. “I’m not letting go. You’re safe.”

It took several coaxing words, but eventually he released his death grip, shaking violently as Jorwyn secured him in the harness. Relief sagged through his body once he was finally beside her in the basket.

“Good job,” she murmured as the ladder descended. “You did it.”

On the ground, the rest of SCAR moved in. Avalora was the first at Logan’s side, gloves snapping into place as she crouched beside him. Selene stood ready with the clipboard, jotting notes, while Solana unrolled the leg stabilizer.

“Any part of you hurting, Mister Logan?” Selene asked.

“This—this foot,” Logan stammered. “Feels… wrecked. And I have some scratches, but that’s all.”

“Don’t move.” Maerith’s voice was brisk as she began bandaging his knee. Solana steadied the leg. Avalora leaned forward, her touch impossibly gentle as she cleaned the bleeding abrasions.

And Jorwyn, standing a few paces back, saw it happen. The man stilled, not from obedience but from something else entirely. His eyes softened, locked onto Avalora’s face. Even the sting of antiseptic did not make him flinch. If anything, he seemed entranced.

Must have been her healing… Jorwyn pushed the conclusion to herself, her stomach knotting. He must have felt it. He felt the electricity, the same one, I think, that surges through me every time she heals me.

Avalora finished dressing the wound, murmured a few words of reassurance, then stepped back. Logan immediately craned his neck, searching for her again as SCAR wrapped up the procedure.

By then, Jorwyn had returned to her professional mask, crouching with her notepad for the debrief. “Mister Logan, I just need to confirm a few details for our report. You’ll still need a full checkup at Amihan after this.”

The man answered distractedly, his gaze sliding past her. Then, without shame, he asked, “Miss rescuer… What's that beautiful nurse’s name?”

Jorwyn froze. Her jaw tightened, but she kept her smile polite. “…It's FO Robles, Mister.”

“No, no.” He waved impatiently. “Not you. The nurse who treated me.” His eyes darted toward Avalora.

Jorwyn’s blood ran hot. Still, she forced herself to clarify. “I’m FO Robles. The nurse you mean is Nurse Arceta.”

“She’s gorgeous,” Logan breathed, dazed.

Jorwyn’s lips pressed into a thin line. She should have ignored it. Instead, the words slipped out, clipped and too honest: “Agreed.”

Logan perked up. “Then—maybe you could give me her contact n—”

“Excuse me, Mister. My team is calling me.” Jorwyn snapped her notebook shut, cutting him off mid-sentence. Without another glance, she strode away, chest tight, heat simmering in her veins.

Avalora was tucking away supplies when Jorwyn swooped in, lifting the trauma bag from her hands with no warning.

“Wyn, hey—I can carry that,” Avalora protested, startled.

“You’ve overexerted yourself,” Jorwyn said sharply. “Ako na rito.”

Avalora blinked at her, bemused. “OA mo. It was just one patient.” She tilted her chin toward Logan, who still sat under observation.

Jorwyn shifted subtly, positioning herself between them as though her body could block his line of sight. “Still. That was a lot for just one. I’ll give your hands a massage later, as your reward. You did well today.”

Her tone was firm, almost possessive. Avalora raised an eyebrow, puzzled by the sudden intensity. But instead of brushing it off, she allowed a small smile, touched despite herself.

“…You’re weird sometimes, Wyn,” Avalora murmured. “But thanks.”

Jorwyn did not answer. She only tightened her grip on the trauma bag and stared straight ahead, jaw clenched.

Because deep down, she knew the truth that the normal she thought she had rebuilt was already starting to crack.

The shared office, usually filled with the steady hum of radios and the shuffle of boots, was not at peace that morning. 

The door creaked open, and in came a tall, broad-shouldered man, his posture almost painfully proud. He strode into the room like he owned the place. 

The moment he stepped inside, the room shifted. The man had once again disturbed the fragile calm, bringing with him the faint scent of roses and the kind of enthusiasm that grated against the nerves of one particular woman.

Norelle nearly dropped her pen in her scramble to hide a laugh, while Garnet shook her head, muttering, Not again. Solana leaned back in her chair with her arms folded, a smirk already forming on her lips like she had been waiting for this all day.

And Jorwyn—sitting stiffly by the window—crossed her arms so tightly her knuckles turned pale. The muscle in her jaw twitched as her eyes tracked every step Logan took.

“Looks like you finally met your match, Jorwyn,” Solana teased, her grin wicked as her eyes darted toward the firefighter, glaring daggers across the room.

“Shut up,” Jorwyn shot back, her tone sharp enough to slice through steel.

Does he think she’ll suddenly give him attention just because he can throw money at the problem? Tsk. He doesn’t even realize how ridiculous he looks. Jorwyn told herself, irritation boiling.

The retort only made Norelle burst into laughter, clutching her stomach as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Garnet, trying to stifle her own giggles, gave the fellow driver a light punch on the arm, though she was grinning too as Solana mimicked Jorwyn’s irritated frown.

At the center of Jorwyn’s scowl stood the culprit, who was about five-foot-ten, his hands still wrapped in healing bandages. He carried an assorted bouquet of roses in one hand—an arrangement so clumsy that the colors seemed to fight each other—and a pristine box in the other.

Logan.

It had been days now. 

Days since this same man started appearing at their office door, disrupting their routines, bringing with him flowers, food, and the kind of boldness that made the entire crew laugh far too much for Jorwyn’s liking. His arrival was always greeted with chuckles, teasing, and Jorwyn’s low curses under her breath.

Logan, oblivious—or pretending not to notice—walked straight to Avalora. She was standing near the supply shelves, arms full of folders she had been arranging. The moment she saw him, her cheeks colored faintly, though whether from embarrassment or irritation was anyone’s guess.

“These are for you,” Logan declared, holding out the bouquet as though he were presenting a trophy. His voice carried, confident and polished, the kind of tone that suggested he had never once in his life been denied.

Avalora accepted the flowers awkwardly, trying to juggle them with her folders. “Oh, um… thank you.”

Inside her head, she was screaming, Why does he always make a scene? Everyone’s watching—do they think I’m encouraging this?

“And this,” Logan said, placing the box atop the nearest table. “Just a little something I thought you might like.”

Behind them, Garnet pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle another laugh. Solana was less discreet. “Ang harana boy na naman oh,” she muttered, earning a sharp glare from Jorwyn.

“Why do we even allow that man in here?” she muttered, voice low but loud enough that her so-called friends heard it.

Norelle grinned that her cheek started hurting, still shaking with mirth. “We can’t do anything about it, Jor. Inaanak pala ni Chief, eh.”

That fact shut Jorwyn up—at least outwardly. Inside, her irritation doubled.

When Logan finally left, after his customary promises to see Avalora again the next day, and his footsteps echoing down the corridor, Jorwyn was on her feet in an instant. Her boots carried her straight to Avalora, the nurse who had become the unwilling target of Logan’s affection. 

Without hesitation, Jorwyn snatched the bouquet from Avalora’s hands as though it were something foul.

“You don’t even like roses,” she said flatly, holding the flowers up as if to prove her point. Her nose wrinkled. “And this arrangement—God—it’s a mess.”

Avalora arched a brow, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms folded. “And how exactly do you know I don’t like roses?”

“I just thought you didn’t.” Jorwyn avoided her gaze, turning instead to the box Logan had left. She pried it open, her grimace deepening when she saw the cake inside, “Oh, for f—look at this.”

Written across the icing in bold letters: “No puedo dejar de pensar en ti.”

Jorwyn slammed the lid back, glaring at the words as though they had personally offended her. “Do you even know what this means?” She opened the box again, tilting it so Avalora could see.

Avalora giggled, the sound light and infuriatingly amused. “Logan said I should Google it. I wasn’t exactly interested in finding out.”

“It means, ‘I can’t stop thinking about you,’” Jorwyn muttered, disgust dripping from her tone. “Why in Spanish, though? Ugh.” With a sigh, she set the box down roughly on the long break table.

“Ang corny!” Solana shouted from across the room, clearly eavesdropping on every word.

“Ewan ko sa kanya,” Avalora said with a shrug. Her lips twitched as she peered at the cake again. “Shall we try it?”

“No way,” Jorwyn snapped. “Who knows what’s in there?”

Her suspicious tone only made Avalora laugh harder. “You’re cute when you’re like this.”

Jorwyn’s glare softened for a fraction of a second, then hardened again as she muttered insults under her breath—none aimed at Avalora, all directed at Logan.

The next morning, the nurse found something far different waiting for her on her desk: a warm cup of coffee and a croissant, neatly set down beside a folded note. She opened it, reading the words scrawled in someone’s unmistakable handwriting:

Flowers die, but coffee keeps you alive. – J

Avalora blinked, surprised, then let out a soft laugh that drew Solana’s attention instantly.

“What’s this?” Solana asked, peeking over. “Wow. The inaanak na yayamanin came earlier than usual?”

“It’s from Jorwyn,” Avalora admitted, unable to hide her smile. She folded the note carefully and tucked it into her chest pocket, close to her heart.

“From babygirl?!” Solana gasped dramatically, her jaw dropping.

“You still call her that?” Avalora asked, brow raised.

“Hey, it’s just an endearment!” Solana lifted her hands innocently, though her grin remained mischievous. “Don’t be selfish. Share mo siya sa’akin kahit sa tawagan lang.”

However, Avalora’s brow arched higher, and Solana immediately backed off. “Okay, okay. Chill. No need to get Jor to kill me if you’re grumpy all day again.”

Logan returned that afternoon, his arms laden with shopping bags from luxury brands. He looked absurdly pleased with himself, though Avalora’s polite but strained smile betrayed her discomfort.

“These are for you,” he said eagerly. “Clothes, accessories—you’ll look stunning in them.”

Avalora’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Logan, this really isn’t—”

“Please, just my gratitude,” he insisted, his tone soft and grateful. “I owe you everything.”

Jorwyn, watching from across the room, rolled her eyes so hard she thought they might get stuck. Gratitude? Oh, Please. Everyone knew Logan’s so-called gratitude was little more than infatuation. It was laughable.

Then Logan dared, “Can I take you out on a date? You could wear one of these.”

Avalora hesitated, muttered something about her schedule, and wriggled free with excuses flimsy enough to be transparent. Thankfully, Logan did not push further.

The following day, Jorwyn upped the ante. Another coffee, Avalora’s usual order, appeared on her desk. This time, it was accompanied by a container of home-cooked pasta and another note:

Not branded and cooked by my condo stove, but at least it’ll keep you full and energized.  – J

Avalora chuckled, her chest warm as she tucked the note away with the first one.

However, the unintentional and one-sided rivalry escalated.

Logan, ever relentless, showed up even at the site of their next mission—a row of burned houses in a nearby barangay, families spilling into the streets in panic. SCAR and VARL worked seamlessly, exhaustion weighing on every limb as they fought the blaze, treated the wounded, and carried the elderly and children out of harm’s way.

He arrived not with roses this time, but with a food cart, distributing meals to both residents and rescuers alike. It was a thoughtful gesture, and even Jorwyn had to admit it was not centered solely on Avalora, begrudgingly.

Still, when the mission ended and everyone prepared to pack up, Logan returned to form. He leaned casually against his gleaming car, keys twirling in one hand.

“Allow me to take you home,” he said smoothly to Avalora.

She tried to decline, but Logan persisted with that grating charm, declaring he would not leave until she agreed. Too tired to argue, Avalora relented.

Jorwyn, already sore from hauling bodies and equipment, nearly combusted when she saw Logan usher Avalora into the car, buckling her seatbelt himself.

“He cannot be serious,” she growled under her breath.

“I think he is,” Solana said cheerfully, earning herself another withering glare.

The very next morning, Avalora was waiting in the lobby of their condo when her phone buzzed with a message from Solana and Maerith. 

Go ahead without us, it read. We’ll catch up later.

She sighed, reluctant to book a taxi. But then, a familiar truck pulled up in front of the entrance of the building.

Jorwyn stepped out, opening the passenger door with a simple, “I’ll drive you, mahal na prinsesa.”

Avalora blinked, momentarily frozen. Then she slid into the seat, heart giving a treacherous skip when Jorwyn jogged back around and slid into the driver’s seat.

When Avalora reached for her seatbelt, Jorwyn swatted her hand lightly. “I’ve got it.” 

Jorwyn leaned over, pulling the belt across Avalora’s chest with efficient precision. The proximity was dizzying—the scent of Jorwyn’s cologne, the warmth of her arm brushing against Avalora’s shoulder. 

For a second, Avalora forgot to breathe.

“That’s your coffee,” Jorwyn said casually, pointing to the cup in the holder. “They didn’t have your croissant yet, but we can stop at a bakery if you want.”

“This is fine, Wyn,” Avalora replied, her smile small but genuine.

“Aircon okay? Too cold?” Jorwyn asked, glancing at her face like she was checking for discomfort.

“It’s perfect,” Avalora said, sipping the coffee.

Silence settled comfortably before Jorwyn spoke again, almost shyly. “I never asked—what kind of music do you like?”

Avalora giggled at the randomness. “Pop, R&B… depends on my mood naman kasi. Ikaw?”

“Wait.” Jorwyn pulled out her phone, scrolling quickly. A moment later, music filled the car—SZA’s voice weaving through the air. “Is this good?”

“Yes,” Avalora said warmly. “I like SZA, actually.” She peeked at Jorwyn’s phone, grinning when she saw the playlist centered on R&B.

“Any other artist?” Jorwyn asked, tucking her phone away.

“Taylor Swift,” Avalora confessed. “Not R&B, but… I like her.”

“Noted, boss,” Jorwyn said.

The next day, Jorwyn was there again, punctual as always. Never missing the chance to open the door for the nurse and buckle the seatbelt for her.

“Good morning, Av,” she greeted.

“Good morning, Robles,” Avalora teased.

Jorwyn only scoffed lightly and gestured toward the cup and croissant waiting for her. “That’s actually the last one. You’re lucky I got it.”

Then she pressed play on a new playlist she had made herself, a title containing Avalora's name. The opening notes of Dress filled the car.

Avalora froze, her heart stumbling at the intimacy of it. “You made me a playlist?”

“So you wouldn’t have to listen to that man sing again,” Jorwyn said, recalling Logan’s disastrous serenade the day before.

Avalora laughed, remembering Logan’s guitarist and the off-key Spanish ballad.  “You could sing for me instead. Solana said you once sang here in your car, and she said you’re good.”

“She’s definitely lying,” Jorwyn said quickly.

“Weh?” Avalora teased. “She even showed me a recording—”

“Wh—Si Sol, talaga!” Jorwyn groaned, throwing her head back dramatically.

Avalora’s laughter rang out, light and genuine. “Sing for me someday,” she said softly, almost seriously now. “But for now, I appreciate this playlist. Play it every time we drive together, okay?”

Her voice softened at the end, and though Jorwyn only nodded, her eyes flicked toward Avalora with a smile that lingered.

And in that car, with the morning sun spilling through the windows and a song about stolen moments filling the silence, both of them felt a shift—subtle, undeniable, and far more dangerous than either dared to admit.

The crew’s office was quieter than usual that afternoon. Papers rustled lazily across desks, the low hum of the AC filling the silence. Marlowe had sprawled comfortably across the couch near the door, half-dozing, until a sharp knock startled her upright.

She blinked, pushing herself to her feet. “Ang aga niyo naman m—” Her voice cut off as she swung open the door. “Hey, it’s you again, bro?”

The groan that rolled from the far side of the room was nearly in unison.

Logan stood there, smirk in place, one arm tucked against his chest like he was about to announce an injury worthy of a war story.

Jorwyn stiffened at once. The smirk alone was enough to make her jaw ache. 

Of course. Can’t go one damn day without him waltzing in like he owns the place.

“Where’s Av?” Logan asked, voice dipped in casual entitlement, the nickname slipping off his tongue like it belonged to him.

Jorwyn’s head snapped toward him. 

He doesn’t get to call her that.

“SCAR’s at Amihan,” Marlowe said evenly, though her gaze flicked toward Norelle, as if silently asking if they should push harder against his sudden intrusion.

“I wasn’t even informed…” Logan’s voice hitched into something that made every VARL member cringe. “When are they coming back?”

“Not sure if they’ll come back here, considering malapit na rin end of shift,” Norelle replied.

“Why are you even here?” Garnet asked, no patience for his dramatics. “You aren’t bringing anything for Arceta this time, are you?”

And it was true. Ever since Logan started haunting their office, he had never arrived empty-handed. 

Flowers. 

Cakes. 

Branded bags. 

Avalora’s quiet refusals had done little to stop him; her arms often overflowed with his offerings, forcing VARL and even SCAR to step in and carry the weight for her. It had become a spectacle. One that Jorwyn had to endure every single day.

Logan shifted, patting his bicep. “I hurt my arm at the gym earlier. I wanted Av to check on it.”

The admission made VARL exchange glances, their reactions ranging from disbelief to suppressed laughter, but Jorwyn finally spoke, tone sharp.

“You could’ve had it checked at your nearby hospital,” she said. “And it should’ve been with Selene—she’s the most skilled in that area.”

Marlowe shot her a glare, annoyed that Jorwyn was trying to pass the responsibility from Avalora to the other nurse. Norelle and Garnet, however, saw their chance.

“Even Jorwyn gets her massages from Selene kasi,” Garnet added slyly, “she’s very effective.”

“Not only that,” Norelle piped up with a grin, “I think student na ni Selene tong si Jor. You can ask her for massages—minsan siya naman nagmamasahe kay Selene.”

“Not interested,” Logan cut them off, dismissive, his eyes never straying from his target.

Jorwyn scoffed. 

So sure of himself. As if Avalora doesn’t deserve to breathe without him hovering.

“I’ll just go to Amihan,” Logan said, already striding for the door. “Maybe I can still meet Av there.”

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the office with a heavy silence.

“I will personally wipe that smirk off his face if I see him here tomorrow,” Marlowe muttered, moving closer to Jorwyn. Then, turning on her, “And you—bakit nadadamay pa si Sel?”

Jorwyn raised her hands in surrender, a grin tugging her lips. “Hey, I have to give her the credits.”

“Credits my ass,” Marlowe muttered, but Norelle was already laughing.

Jorwyn turned her mock-scolding glare on Norelle. “Siraulo ka, Cap. Paano if pumayag siya magpamasahe sa akin?!”

Norelle only laughed harder, joined by Garnet.

“Bahala siya,” Norelle said, recovering. “Wala na siya maaabutan sa Amihan. Mae said they’re already on the way here.”

Jorwyn lit up, springing to her feet with an unguarded girly giggle. “Finally!”

“Si OA naman,” Marlowe teased, collapsing back onto her couch. “Kalahating araw lang di nakita, pero parang LDR kayo?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lowe,” Jorwyn said breezily, though her grin betrayed her. She plopped down beside her partner, restless energy humming through her.

Moments later, the door opened without a knock, and SCAR stumbled in, their steps heavy, shoulders sagging.

The room shifted instantly, VARL on alert.

“What kind of emergency was it na you guys are looking like you personally battled an army?” Norelle asked, frowning.

Jorwyn and Marlowe rose at once, snatching bags off SCAR’s arms while Garnet hurried to fetch water.

“Huge car accident on HMTU highway,” Maerith said, her voice flat with exhaustion.

“First time we’ve been summoned to something that massive,” Selene added, rubbing her temple. “They had to open every ER in Amihan.”

“I haven’t even seen some of the nurses’ faces kanina,” Solana muttered, collapsing into a chair. “Bago yata sila. Ganun kalala. Thanks for the water, G.”

Jorwyn tracked Avalora immediately. She lingered by the couch near the door, expression drained.

“Hey,” Jorwyn greeted softly, sitting close.

“Hi,” Avalora murmured, offering a small but warm smile.

“Tired?” Jorwyn asked.

The nurse only nodded. “They only made me clean wounds, Wyn. Don’t worry, di naman nakakapagod.”

However, Jorwyn could see it in the slope of her shoulders, the way her body seemed to sink deeper into the cushion. She hated that Avalora always tried to make light of her exhaustion.

She carries too much. Pretends it’s nothing. If only she’d let me—us carry it for her.

“I don’t want to worry you,” Avalora added, voice low. “Kaya every time I think of working past my limits, inaalala ko yung usapan natin.”

Something inside Jorwyn loosened. She reached for Avalora’s hand without hesitation, thumbs brushing over her knuckles, ready to soothe the tension away.

The door slammed open again.

“Av!”

Every head whipped toward the sound, and every expression soured.

It was Logan again, catching his breath.

Jorwyn almost shot to her feet, but the firm pull of Avalora’s hand anchored her back down. She looked up sharply, and Avalora’s eyes were on her, steady, wordlessly asking her not to rise.

Solana stood, arms crossed, facing Logan. “Nagpapahinga si Ava, Mister Lo—”

But he breezed right past her, planting himself on the couch opposite Avalora and Jorwyn.

“Av, look,” he said, pointing at his arm. “It’s been throbbing for a while now.”

Avalora did not even glance at him. She closed her eyes, fingers tightening around Jorwyn’s as if doubling down on her choice of where to focus.

“Hey, FO, can you move so Av can look at this?” Logan demanded, tone sharp.

Jorwyn’s jaw ticked. She froze her hands mid-motion, but Avalora pressed against them, a silent plea saying Don’t stop. Don’t answer him.

Maerith rose smoothly. “I can look at that.”

Yet again, Logan ignored another SCAR member.

Selene’s patience snapped. “If you don’t walk out of that door within a minute, I’ll break your shin.”

The room stilled. Everyone shot Selene a look—half warning, half admiration.

“What?” she said flatly. “The girl’s resting. Out of everyone here, ilang oras yan babad sa mga pasyente. The rest of us can attend to your needs. Let Ava rest.”

“I think you forgot who you’re talking to. You don’t get to tell me what to do,” Logan snapped. “As long as Av—”

“Please, get out,” Avalora said suddenly, voice firm.

Logan froze, disbelief etched across his face. “But, Av, I’m in pain.”

“I’m also in pain,” Avalora said simply.

Two voices answered in unison: Logan’s sharp, Jorwyn’s startled. “What?”

Avalora leaned back, closing her eyes again. “God.”

Solana pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mister Logan, pilitin ko tong si Ava makipagdate sayo just please get out now.”

Everyone could tell Solana only said it to shoo him away, so no one bothered to protest.

Logan’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Oo nga,” Solana said through gritted teeth.

That was all it took for Logan to jump to his feet and stride for the door. “Avalora, see you tomorrow.”

The latch clicked behind him, and the air eased.

The rest of VARL and SCAR drifted back toward the long table, resuming their chatter, their aid.

For the third time that evening, Jorwyn tried to slip her hand free. And for the third time, Avalora’s grip denied her. Jorwyn blinked, staring down at their joined hands, then back at the nurse.

“You’re hands are warm,” Avalora whispered, eyes still closed. “Continue what you were doing, please.”

Jorwyn’s heart skipped. The fury that had been burning through her veins drained out, leaving only the warmth of Avalora’s touch.

“That man is so full of himself,” Jorwyn muttered, low, and Avalora hummed in agreement.

“Want me to talk to the Chief? Ask him not to allow him here again?” Jorwyn asked. “He’s been disruptive to you.”

Avalora’s lips curved faintly. “Trust me, Jor. I also want to tell him to stop. But he’s persistent, and asking the Chief won’t do any good—baka mapasama ka pa.”

Jorwyn gritted her teeth but swallowed the protest. She knew Avalora was right. Logan’s ties to the Chief gave him a leash longer than anyone else’s, and removing him would not be easy.

“Well,” Jorwyn said, voice quiet but sharp with promise, “if he ever crosses the line, I won’t hold back. Kahit maging anak pa siya ng presidente ng bansa.”

Avalora’s smile widened. She tugged Jorwyn closer until their shoulders pressed, until their warmth blended. Jorwyn froze, then exhaled, leaning back into her. Avalora’s hair brushed against her temple, soft, grounding.

If she asked me to stay like this forever, I would. No hesitation. No questions. Just… yes.

And so she stayed.

The following day was supposed to be routine. 

Supposed to be.

The morning sun slanted across Amihan’s glass lobby when VARL and SCAR filed in together, their chatter subdued after a long night’s work. Avalora was tucked between Solana and Maerith, head bowed as she scrolled through a new case file on her tablet. Jorwyn walked just behind, as always, her gaze locked on Avalora’s small frame, ready to intercept anything—or anyone—that tried to draw her attention away.

And, like clockwork, he was already there.

Logan stood by the reception desk, another bouquet of roses in one hand and a glossy white bag in the other, his grin blinding enough to make the reception officer roll her eyes when she thought he was not looking.

“Av!” he called out, waving cheerfully.

Avalora froze. Solana muttered a curse under her breath.

Jorwyn’s eyes narrowed into slits. 

You’ve got to be kidding me. Again?

He closed the distance in quick strides, presenting the bouquet first. “These reminded me of you. Pure. Classic. Untouchable.”

Avalora blinked, unsure whether to laugh or groan. “Logan…”

“And this,” he continued, handing over the bag, “limited edition scarf. Imported. Thought it’d suit you, with the weather cooling down.”

Avalora hesitated, arms full of the file she carried. Norelle reached over, muttering, “Here, let me—” but Jorwyn moved faster, snatching the bag before Avalora could touch it.

Her voice was deceptively light. “You’re spoiling her too much.”

Logan smirked at her. “Maybe you just don’t spoil her enough.”

That was all it took for Jorwyn’s jaw to flex.

Avalora’s cheeks burned as she clutched the roses against her chest, awkwardly caught in the middle. “I told you before… You don’t need to keep giving me these things.”

“But I want to,” Logan said simply. His gaze was unwavering, confident. “You deserve them.”

Of course you’d say that, Jorwyn thought bitterly. Because you think affection is something you can buy. Like she’s a prize to hang on your arm.

Aloud, Jorwyn muttered, “Deserve doesn’t mean want.”

Logan glanced at her, a faint challenge sparking in his eyes. “Funny. You sound like you’re speaking for her.”

“I am,” Jorwyn snapped before she could stop herself.

The silence that followed was heavy. Avalora shifted uncomfortably, biting her lip. She glanced up at Jorwyn, eyes wide, pleading without words: Don’t make this worse.

Jorwyn exhaled sharply, forcing a laugh that came out more like a growl. “Anyway. Thank you for your… generous contributions.” She thrust the scarf bag into Solana’s hands before Logan could argue. “We’ll make sure she puts it to good use.”

Logan arched a brow but said nothing. His grin returned, as if victory was already his.

Avalora finally found her voice, though it wavered. “Logan, I really can’t keep—”

“You can,” he interrupted smoothly. “Because I’ll keep giving. And one day, you’ll stop saying no.”

With that, he tipped his head in a cocky half-bow and strode off, leaving the group stunned in his wake.

Solana broke the silence first. “Kung hindi siya kamag-anak ng Commander, I’d kick his ass straight into that coconut where we saved him from.”

“Same,” Maerith muttered.

But Jorwyn was not listening. Her gaze was locked on the roses Avalora still held. 

Red, bold, and too much.

If he thinks I’ll stand back and watch him court her with gifts, he’s wrong. She’s not his to win.

Her stomach twisted as Avalora carefully set the bouquet down on a desk, lips pressed into a thin line. Jorwyn felt a strange, ugly pang at the sight.

Maybe he’s right. Perhaps I don’t give her enough. I protect her, yes, but is that enough for her?

For the first time, the thought unsettled her.

And so it began.

Chapter Text

If VARL and SCAR had once believed Logan’s antics would remain confined to the four walls of their office—his loud visits, his branded bags, his smug smiles—they had sorely underestimated him. His shadow had a way of slipping past doors, past duty, and today it bled into their mission.

It was not just any mission.

The call came from a nearby high school, where the wooden bleachers inside the gymnasium had collapsed during Family Day. The festive noise of laughter and cheers had been swallowed by a roar of splintering wood, followed by screams. Students and parents alike had been buried under the wreckage.

BlueSent’s elite units responded within minutes, and the air around the campus, once filled with chatter and music, now pulsed with panic as sirens wailed, teachers cried out names, and the acrid scent of varnish and dust hung heavy.

SCAR quickly set up a triage outside the gym. Maerith barked orders, her voice sharp enough to slice through the chaos, while Avalora moved swiftly between patients, her hands steady as she arranged bandages and splints. Garnet and Norelle heaved thick poles into place to brace what remained of the structure, sweat already soaking through their uniforms.

Inside the gym, Marlowe and Jorwyn darted in and out of the wreckage. Each trip was a fight against time—finding the trapped, pulling them free, handing them off to waiting arms.

The floor was slick with spilled soda and fresh blood. Dust clung to sweat, and every breath tasted like dust.

Norelle had barely begun to lose herself in the rhythm of the rescue when her gaze snagged on a figure near the school principal. Tall, bandaged hands folded across his chest, a smile tugging at his lips even in this chaos.

Logan, again.

Her brows knitted.

“You’re here?” Norelle’s voice was flat, too weary for theatrics.

Principal Dela Cruz, however, lit up like Christmas. “Good morning, Captain!” He gestured proudly to Logan. “Mister Logan’s family sponsored our Family Day. Luckily, he told me he’s close with your unit. That is why we specifically requested you.”

Norelle’s jaw tightened. She forced her lips into a polite smile, but her voice remained clipped. “What’s the situation, Principal?”

The man explained quickly—the crowd’s excited stomping and the bleachers’ worn-out supports caused the sudden collapse. Norelle nodded, ready to return to her team, when a huge and heavy hand caught her arm.

Logan’s.

“Where’s Av?” His voice was casual, entitled, as though he had every right to ask.

Norelle reluctantly pointed toward the triage tent, where Avalora was already kneeling beside a child with a broken arm. Logan strode off without thanks, his stride purposeful, like he owned the ground he walked on.

Jorwyn found out about his presence moments later as Norelle passed by, leaning close as they lifted debris off a trapped teenager. “He’s here,” she muttered.

Jorwyn’s grip on the injured boy tightened. “That man, again.” The hiss slipped out like steam from boiling water, anger held barely in check.

But she had no time to dwell. Another scream pierced the dust-filled air. She shoved her fury aside, ducked back under the bleachers, and dragged a trembling mother toward daylight.

The gym was a battlefield as children started crying for parents, fathers pushing against beams with bleeding arms, mothers calling names hoarse. Garnet and Norelle strained to wedge steel bars beneath the wreckage, creating crawl spaces. Marlowe braced against a support, sweat pouring down her temple.

And then, unannounced, Logan appeared at her side.

The chaos stilled for a fraction of a second as students recognized him. “Superman!” voices rang out while tiny hands clapped.

Jorwyn, on her knees, pulling free a boy, lifted her head. Her stomach clenched as she saw Logan flex his shoulders, sliding under a beam with a theatrical flourish. He yanked a trapped boy free and scooped him into his arms as though in a staged photo.

The boy screamed, and the sound cut through everything. His leg twisted at the wrong angle, agony painted across his face.  

Jorwyn’s stomach knotted as if she had been the one mishandled. However, Logan’s grin did not falter, not until Avalora’s voice cut like a blade across the gym.

“Put him down. Now.” She was now striding across the floor, fury blazing in her usually calm eyes.

Logan froze, sheepish, his confidence crumbling as Selene rushed forward. Together, Avalora and Selene lifted the boy properly, their movements calm, practiced, reassuring. Logan trailed behind like a scolded child.

“Sorry, Av,” he muttered. “I swear, I didn’t mean to.” 

Then, as if to mend the moment, he crouched beside the boy. “Hey, buddy—want a game console? I’ll send one over.”

The tears vanished instantly from the child’s eyes, replaced by awe. “Sige, kuya!”

Selene’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and Solana, overhearing, muttered under her breath, “Buying off a kid’s pain. Classic.”

But Logan beamed, bolstered by the boy’s cheer. He followed Avalora back to triage, ignoring Maerith’s glare sharp enough to cut glass.

It was there, at the triage tent, that the whispers began.

A cluster of mothers lingered at the edge, their voices not nearly as hushed as they thought.

“Hala, ang gentleman naman.”

“Oo nga, look at him wiping her sweat—so sweet.”

“Parang bagay nga sila, noh?”

“If I were the nurse, I would marry him.”

Their voices were daggers dressed as compliments, causing Avalora to stiffen. Logan had taken it upon himself to dab at her forehead with a napkin, uninvited. His touch lingered far too long, his smile angled for the onlookers.

Avalora forced her lips into a polite smile, but it felt brittle and fragile. She wanted to push his hand away, to demand space, but with all those eyes, with cameras flashing now as reporters arrived, she bit her tongue.

Across the tent, Jorwyn’s chest burned. Her hands shook as she wrapped bandages, fury and helplessness swirling in her chest. She wanted nothing more than to stride over, tear the napkin from his hand, and tell every single gossiping mother exactly who Logan really was. 

But she could not. Not here and not with her uniform on.

Then a child’s voice, innocent and piercing, rose above the chatter.

“Kuya Logan, kayo po ba ni Ate Pretty?”

Logan smirked, his eyes gleaming. “Si Av? Not yet. Pero, I swear to you, malapit na.”

The cheer that followed was deafening. Students clapped, parents laughed knowingly, and the principal himself clapped Logan’s back like a proud uncle.

Once the fallen wood was neatly stacked to the side of the gymnasium and everyone who had been crushed beneath it was moved to the triage tent, VARL immediately slipped into action. They offered their help without hesitation, putting into practice everything they had learned from their lessons with the nurses.

From across the tent, Jorwyn kept half an eye on Logan. He was putting on a show as he was handing out bottled water to patients, assuring the principal he would replace not only the collapsed bleachers but all of them. Those who overheard his declaration praised him even louder.

A few people even stopped him for photos, and Logan flashed his wide, celebrity-like smile at each one.

Avalora, who thought she had already seen the worst of his hovering and theatrics, quickly realized she was wrong. Just as she stepped back to catch a small break from tending to patients, Logan’s arm slid around her waist. Before she could react, he was steering her toward the newly arrived media team.

“See, here we have this beautiful and amazing woman, Nurse Ava,” Logan announced, smiling proudly in Avalora’s direction.

Avalora, clearly caught off guard, forced a polite smile at the cameras. She knew she could not risk embarrassing him—not with so many eyes watching, and not when her reaction could ripple beyond VARL-SCAR to the entire BlueSent.

Then, a voice from behind the camera called out, “What can you say about Mister Logan?”

Unprepared, Avalora blurted the first thing that came to mind. “He’s been very nice and helpful,” she said.

The crowd instantly erupted in playful noise—teasing whistles and cheers. “Sobrang bagay!” someone shouted, and the chant quickly caught on. Logan’s smile only widened, clearly pleased with the approval.

Inside the tent, Jorwyn clenched her jaw and kept her eyes on her task, refusing to glance at the scene. Any slip would compromise her work.

“Banatan na ba natin?” Solana muttered, voice dripping with irritation.

She was met with a sharp nudge to the ribs from Garnet.

“What? Nakakairita na eh.”

“The kids will hear, Sol,” Maerith reminded her gently, her head bent low as she carefully bandaged one of the mothers in front of her.

By the time the wreckage was cleared and the injured stabilized, exhaustion pulled at every rescuer’s limbs. But Logan was not finished. He never was.

As the media swarmed, cameras catching every angle of BlueSent’s efforts, Logan made his final play. He stepped forward, seized Avalora’s wrist with a possessive grip, and raised his voice so all could hear.

"Avalora, dinner’s on me. Consider it your privilege for the day. No todos reciben esta oportunidad." His gaze flicked to Solana, smug. “Didn’t you promise to help me?”

Avalora’s jaw tightened the moment Logan slipped into Spanish, her patience thinning. She averted her gaze, eyes rolling subtly like she had had to endure this performance one too many times. Her world seemed to tilt, but before she could answer, another hand wrapped around her free wrist, steady and strong. 

Jorwyn.

“Let her go,” she said, her voice low, dangerous.

The cameras clicked louder, the crowd’s murmur rising like a tide. Logan’s eyes glittered as he turned to Jorwyn, smiling as though this were merely another game.

“What are you to Avalora? Teammate lang naman yata kayo, right?”

The word landed like a blade in Jorwyn’s chest. 

Teammate. 

Right, that was all she was and all she could be. She forced her chin higher. “Can’t a teammate care for her?”

Logan scoffed at that and leaned closer to the nurse, voice dropping. “You’re not seeing anyone, right, Av?”

Avalora froze, and her throat tightened. 

The crowd leaned forward, hungry for her answer.

And then—quietly, like a pin slipping into her chest—she said, “Yeah, I’m not.”

Jorwyn’s fingers faltered on her wrist. The words stung, sharper than she had braced for.

Logan’s grin split wide, triumphant. “Then no one will mind.”

The crowd exploded.

“Go na, Nurse Ava!”

“Ang pogi ni Kuya Logan!”

Avalora’s shoulders slumped, and Jorwyn saw it—the resignation, the exhaustion. Avalora did not want this. But with so many eyes, so many cameras, what choice did she have?

“Only this time,” Avalora whispered, making sure the bystanders did not get to hear her.

“Is that a yes, Ava?” Logan said loudly enough for the crowd to hear, his voice lifting and drawing squeals from their spectators.

“Yes,” Avalora sighed and replied, her voice steady despite the heat in her cheeks.

Jorwyn felt her chest collapse.

The people around them—everyone except VARL and SCAR—burst into cheers at her answer. Logan’s smile stretched wider as he moved to her side, and together they walked away, pausing to return the waves and thanks from those grateful for his help. The nurse’s arm was now tucked against his side like a trophy. 

Avalora did not look back at her teammates. She swore she could bury herself to the ground if she ever took a peek at the disappointment on their faces.

Jorwyn then started to walk away, her steps clipped, too fast and too rigid. She needed to move or she would shatter. From the rescue truck, she watched Avalora and Logan drive away, her fists tightening until her knuckles blanched. 

Solana hovered close, biting back words, but Jorwyn did not need her commentary. 

“Earth to Jorwyn,” Solana nudged her on her shoulders. “Nagseselos ka noh?”

Jorwyn froze.

Jealous? She had no right. Avalora was a teammate, nothing more. Not hers to keep, and certainly not hers to lose. That was what she told herself. That was what she needed to believe.

But if it were true, why did every step away from that gym feel like something inside her was splintering, breaking in ways no bandage could mend?

She clenched her jaw, kept her eyes forward, and refused to answer.

The image of Logan’s hand on Avalora’s waist was already carved into her brain, deep and stinging.

She didn’t want that. I know she didn’t.

But knowing it did not stop the gnawing ache spreading through her chest.

VARL-SCAR’s convoy pulled back into their station garage. The floodlights above cast harsh white circles onto tired faces, highlighting dirt-streaked uniforms and bandaged hands. No one spoke at first; the rumble of engines cutting out left a hollow silence, as if the weight of the day refused to lift.

Inside their quiet office, Solana threw her keys onto the table and exhaled loudly. “Grabe. That was one for the books.” She sat down, shoulders slumping, her ponytail sticking damply to the back of her neck. “And not in a good way.”

Maerith followed, wiping dirt from her arms with a towel. “Could have been worse. If those bleachers had collapsed when the crowd was at full capacity…” She shook her head. “Injuries would have been dozens more.”

“Instead,” Selene muttered from the corner, “we had a different problem.” Her gaze flicked to Jorwyn, who was uncharacteristically quiet, stripping out of her gloves as though they had offended her.

Everyone knew what she meant. No one needed to say his name.

Still, Solana could not resist. She leaned back, a smirk tugging at her lips despite her exhaustion. “Logan. Our resident Superman.” The sarcasm in her tone was sharp. “Kayo ba nakakita nung pag-flex niya habang may buhat? Para siyang audition sa pelikula.”

Garnet snorted, tossing her boots aside. “And the way the crowd ate it up… nakakainis.”

Only Jorwyn did not join in. Her jaw was rigid, her eyes downcast, like she was still inside that gym, hearing Avalora’s voice forced into polite agreement: Yes. Only this time.

She wanted to forget it, but she could not.

She sat on the edge of the office couch, still in field uniform, staring at the wall. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Avalora seated across from Logan, his grin stretching wide, his voice low and charming.

Why does it matter? She’s just a teammate. That’s all. 

That’s all.

But the words tasted like lies.

Meanwhile, Solana paced their office like a caged tiger, and Marlowe sprawled on the couch scrolling through her phone.

“You think Logan’s actually got a shot?” Solana asked, breaking the silence.

Marlowe snorted. “With Ava? Not in a million years.” She looked over at Jorwyn, who had not moved in nearly half an hour. “Unless someone else keeps hesitating.”

Jorwyn’s eyes flicked up, sharp as glass. Marlowe raised her hands in mock surrender.

“I’m just saying,” she continued, “a guy like Logan isn’t dangerous because he’s smooth. He’s dangerous because he does not know when and how to stop. If you don’t make your stand, he’ll walk all over her.”

Jorwyn said nothing, but the words lodged deep.

Avalora had not even realized her hand was trembling until Logan clasped it with practiced ease, escorting her out of the gymnasium like she was some trophy to parade. The cheers from students and parents echoed behind them, a chorus Avalora wished she could silence.

I should have said no.

But with so many eyes on her, with Jorwyn’s hand falling away, she could not. Not without causing a scene that would haunt SCAR and VARL’s reputation for weeks.

Logan opened the door to his sleek black car, bowing slightly as if he were a knight and she some fair princess. “Your chariot awaits, Av.”

Her lips twitched, not in amusement but in the brittle effort to keep calm. “Logan, this isn’t—”

“No arguments,” he cut in smoothly, ushering her inside. “Just a dinner. After the day you’ve had, you deserve it.”

The restaurant Logan chose was exactly what Avalora expected—grand chandeliers, soft piano music, and waiters who addressed Logan by name. He clearly came here often, the kind of place where money spoke louder than anything else.

Seated at a private table, Logan leaned back with a smug ease. “See? Much better than patching up wounds and dealing with crying kids.”

Avalora folded her hands on her lap, voice even. “Those kids were in pain, Logan. Don’t belittle what happened.”

He blinked, then chuckled. “Relax, Av. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant you deserve better than blood and chaos every day. A woman like you—beautiful, smart—you should be… well, enjoying moments like this.”

Her jaw tensed. 

A woman like me. He doesn’t even know what that means.

“I’m fine with what I do,” she replied firmly.

Logan raised his glass of wine, smirking. “Sure, sure. Still, can’t blame me for trying to spoil you a little.”

Avalora forced a polite smile. Inside, her thoughts churned. 

He doesn’t listen. He never listens.

Halfway through dinner, Logan reached across the table, his fingers brushing Avalora’s hand. “Av, let’s stop pretending. You feel it too, don’t you? The connection between us?”

Her spine stiffened. “Logan—”

He leaned closer. “Everyone sees it. The way they cheer for us, the way even the principal and my ninong approved. Don’t tell me I’m the only one who noticed.”

Avalora’s heart pounded, and not with fluster, but with the urge to pull away. Yet she kept her composure, years of professionalism anchoring her.

“I think,” she said carefully, “people see what they want to see. That doesn’t make it real.”

Logan chuckled, undeterred. “You’re shy, I get it. But don’t worry. I’m patient.”

Avalora exhaled slowly, pressing her palms to her thighs under the table. 

This isn’t patience. This is persistence dressed as charm. And persistence isn’t love.

By the end of dinner, Logan insisted on walking Avalora to his car. Cameras were not around anymore, but his performance had not ended.

“Av,” he said softly, stopping just before she stepped inside. “You don’t have to answer now. But I want to see you again. Just us. No chaos, no interruptions. Promise me you’ll think about it.”

Avalora met his gaze, steady and unflinching. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

It was the most honest thing she had said all night.

Logan’s smirk faltered for the first time, but he quickly recovered. “Fair enough. I like a challenge.”

When Avalora returned to the office later, exhaustion clinging to her bones, she found Jorwyn still in the same place, sitting in the dark like she had been waiting. Their eyes met—Avalora’s full of weariness, Jorwyn’s burning with questions she did not dare voice.

Neither spoke, but the silence between them carried more weight than all of Logan’s words combined.

When their shift ended and Avalora finally entered the locker bay, the room fell into a hush. Avalora noticed instantly. Her cheeks warmed; her hands busied themselves smoothing down her scrubs, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ears.

“What?” she asked, half-defensive.

“Nothing,” Maerith replied, but her tone was too careful.

Solana leaned forward, grin wicked. “So… how was the date?”

“Sol,” Avalora warned, rolling her eyes. “Not funny.”

“Eh, the crowd seemed to think otherwise,” Solana pressed, sing-song in her voice. “ ‘Go na, Nurse Ava!’ Diba?” She mimicked the children’s cheer. Selene chuckled until Avalora glared.

Avalora dropped heavily onto the bench, covering her face with her hands. “Do you people have any idea how humiliating that was? Everyone watching, cheering, taking pictures—like I was some prize to be paraded.”

The team sobered at her words. For all their teasing, they saw the strain in her voice, the slump in her shoulders.

“Ava,” Selene said gently, “you could have refused him, out loud.”

“You think I didn’t want to?” Avalora lowered her hands, eyes shining with frustration. “If I’d pushed back harder, in front of all those parents and kids, what then? Ruin our image? Embarrass the principal? I couldn’t risk it.”

Her words echoed in the room, sharp and heavy. For once, even Solana did not have a comeback.

Across the lockers, Jorwyn stilled. Her chest ached, not just with anger at Logan but with something sharper.

It was guilt.

She should have stepped in sooner, louder. Should have stood at Avalora’s side instead of watching from the shadows, burning with emotions she could not name.

But what right did she have? 

Later, when most of the team had dispersed, Avalora lingered by her locker. She moved slowly, as though each action—folding her scrub top, stowing her shoes—bought her more time to compose herself.

“Av,” Jorwyn’s voice broke the quiet.

She turned, startled. Jorwyn rarely sought her out off-shift. The rescuer leaned against the wall, arms crossed, shadows under her eyes deepened by fatigue.

“You okay?” Jorwyn asked, tone neutral, almost brusque. But her gaze was intent, searching.

Avalora hesitated. She wanted to say no. To admit the way Logan’s touch still crawled on her skin, how the roar of the crowd still rang in her ears. Instead, she forced a small smile. “I’ll survive.”

Jorwyn’s jaw tightened. “You should not have to ‘survive’ things like that.”

Avalora tilted her head, curiosity pricking. “Why do you care so much?”

The question hung between them, heavy. Jorwyn looked away first, muscles tense. “Because you’re my teammate.”

“Teammate lang?” Avalora asked softly, echoing Logan’s taunt.

The words landed like a challenge. For a heartbeat, Jorwyn’s eyes flickered—something raw, unguarded—but then the wall came back up. 

“Yes,” she said. 

It was too fast and too firm for her own liking.

Avalora’s smile faltered, just slightly. She closed her locker with a sharp clang. “Then, as your teammate, I’ll say this: stop glaring at Logan like you’re ready to punch him. It only makes things worse.”

Jorwyn swallowed her retort. She watched Avalora walk away. And for the first time, the rescuer felt utterly powerless—more than in any burning building, more than under any collapsing roof.

Logan, meanwhile, was nowhere near powerless.

That night, he lounged in his penthouse suite overlooking the city skyline, wine glass in hand, his phone buzzing nonstop with congratulatory messages. Clips from the mission had already hit social media—him carrying children, dabbing Avalora’s forehead, declaring her name before the cameras.

The hashtags trended instantly: 

#SupermanLogan

#NurseAva

 #FamilyDayHero.

He scrolled, smirking. “See? They love it.”

His cousin on the other end of the line laughed. “Bro, you’re golden. A few more of these public stunts and she’s yours. Nurses love stability. Show her you’re the dependable type.”

“Of course, you know a lot about nurses,” Logan grinned wider.  “And Dependable? That’s easy. She’ll see soon enough.” 

He swirled his wine. “Besides, her team can glare all they want. At the end of the day, I’m the one people cheer on.”

Avalora lay awake in her condo, replaying the day over and over. The weight of expectation pressed on her chest: the cheers, the cameras, Logan’s arm around her waist. She hated that her silence had been read as consent.

She turned on her side, eyes catching the note tucked safely in her pegboard—Jorwyn’s handwriting, still neat despite the haste: Flowers die, but coffee keeps you alive.

Something warm tugged in her chest. Unlike Logan’s grand gestures, Jorwyn’s offerings were quiet, almost shy. A coffee cup, a croissant, a playlist—small things, but they spoke volumes.

And yet, she remembered Jorwyn’s face in the locker room, the way she had hidden behind the word teammate. Avalora closed her eyes, torn between gratitude and disappointment.

She whispered into the dark, unheard, “Sana hindi lang teammate.”

Jorwyn, alone in her bed, could not sleep either. Every muscle in her body ached from the mission, but her mind was louder than the pain. She remembered Avalora’s forced smile, her whispered surrender: Only this time.

Jorwyn pressed a hand over her chest, as though she could steady the storm inside. She wanted to promise Avalora protection, to step between her and Logan’s shadow. But promises meant nothing if spoken too late.

“Teammate,” she muttered and laughed bitterly into the dark.

The words felt hollow on her tongue.

Outside, the city slept, but storms brewed silently—in hearts, in loyalties, in the fragile threads tying rescuer and nurse together. And somewhere across the skyline, Logan raised his glass to his reflection, convinced he was winning.

But the night had a way of shifting tides, of testing bonds no crowd could see.

And soon enough, everyone—Logan, Avalora, and especially Jorwyn—would find out what applause truly costs.

Chapter Text

Much to Logan’s delight—and to the octet’s dismay—the story of his so-called heroics flared through the station faster than any blaze they had ever fought.

It was not just the parents and students from the school who sang his praises; even some firefighters, who apparently knew him back from his brief stint in the Academy, clapped him on the back like he belonged. The nurses, meanwhile, swooned over his expensive cologne and effortless smile, and as if that were not enough, his godfather basked in the reflected glory, parading Logan’s name as if the young man’s antics had been a masterstroke of courage rather than a disruption.

For Logan, it was all fuel to his ego. 

For VARL-SCAR, it was like smoke in the lungs—choking, bitter, impossible to ignore.

They were not greedy for validation. They never had been. Their work was measured by lives saved, not applause. But watching the credit—credit they had sweated, bled, and nearly got injured for—shift onto someone undeserving made their irritation multiply.

“He was just an eyesore before,” Solana muttered as they slumped around the breakroom table, “but now he’s a full-blown menace.”

The others murmured their agreement, a low grumble of shared annoyance.

Rumors trickled in through the walls, the kind of whispers that drifted easily in a station that never truly slept. It turned out Logan had, in fact, been a student at BlueSent Academy once. For a single semester. Long enough to enjoy the reputation, short enough to dodge the hard work. He had withdrawn before the first round of serious training, choosing instead to take the reins of his family’s business empire.

That revelation drew nothing but derision from the octet.

“Figures,” Marlowe said dryly, leaning back in her chair. “I still remember our first mission with him—shaking like a leaf, clinging to that coconut tree like it was his last lifeline. Imagine niyo na lang paano kaya niya maitatawid yung rappelling class.”

The image set her off with a sharp laugh.

Garnet chimed in, smirking. “Oh, I can definitely see it. He would puff his chest out, play tough for the climb up, pero kapag kailangan niya na makababa,” She made a mock flailing motion with her hands. “Absolute disaster.”

That broke the room into muffled snickers, though the bitterness underlined every chuckle because no matter how much they mocked him, Logan was still out there smiling, still gathering praise he had not earned.

The drill, now turned into Logan-slandering 101, screeched to a halt when the presence of the very man they resented appeared at the doorway. And this time, he was not alone.

Logan entered with the Fire Chief at his side, both wearing identical smiles—broad, proud, and self-satisfied.

In an instant, the room straightened. Chairs scraped back as the octet stood, and those leaning by the walls snapped into salute.

The Chief returned it gleefully, his hand clapping Logan’s shoulder with fatherly warmth.

“I have an announcement to make.” His voice boomed. “From today onward, until time permits, Logan will be serving as a Trainee Support for both VARL and SCAR.”

The air in the room soured. Some fists clenched tight at their sides, nails digging into their palms. Others could only blink in disbelief, their thoughts a tangle of curses they dared not voice. Still, they held their ground, shoulders squared and jaws set, hiding their fury behind brittle smiles.

The Chief, oblivious, carried on. “Think of him as an extra member of your team. An additional hand you can lean on in operations, whether for muscle or logistics.”

Logan, already puffed up with pride, turned to his godfather eagerly. “Can I stay here, then?” His grin stretched too wide, a flicker of something sharper glinting just beneath the boyish act.

“Of course,” the Chief said warmly. “This will serve as good training. He’ll be re-entering the Academy next semester as a full-fledged firefighter student.”

Logan spread his arms wide, as though unveiling a grand prize. “Aren’t you guys excited?!”

The octet longed to voice their dismay, to make clear how much they hated the idea of him being attached to their unit. But with the Fire Chief standing right in front of them, pride and authority radiating from his every word, they could do nothing but choke back their protests. 

Instead, they arranged their mouths into smiles—stiff, brittle things that wavered at the edges, transparent to anyone who cared to look closely. They stood there in silence, resentment simmering beneath the polished surface.

“Av!” Logan suddenly beamed at Avalora, his voice dripping with familiarity. “We’ll be together all the time now!”

Avalora felt every gaze flicker to her. Her lips pressed into a thin line before she forced herself to answer. “Chief… shouldn’t he be with a male team?”

The Fire Chief chuckled, as if the question was absurd. “Nurse Arceta, I wouldn’t place him here if there were any protocol issues.”

True enough, nowhere in BlueSent’s handbook forbade a male member from being added to an all-female squad. 3DS was proof of that, their roster stacked with men only.

“Yes, but—” Jorwyn began, her voice sharp.

Logan cut her off with a smirk. “Relax. It’s not like I’m going to do anything. If anything, ako pa ang kawawa—being the only guy here, diba?”

Jorwyn’s jaw flexed. Her nails dug into her palms until her knuckles whitened.

“What if we don’t agree, Chief?” Norelle asked suddenly, her voice calm but her posture rigid.

The Fire Chief’s brows rose, his arms crossing in challenge. “Is there a reason you would not, Captain?”

Norelle opened her mouth. Her heart screamed to say that Logan is a distraction. A liability. A danger to their work, but her tongue stayed heavy. She could not risk the fallout.

“None, Chief,” she said finally, her voice clipped.

“Good.” The Chief nodded once, decisive. “Then I’ll leave Logan here. Take care of him, team.”

“Yes, Chief,” Norelle answered stiffly.

The Chief started for the door, then paused mid-step. Turning back, he dealt the final blow with a calm authority that left no room for protest. 

“Nurse Arceta—look after him for me.”

The words landed heavy, a command wrapped like a chain, and the room seemed to shrink around Avalora as every gaze shifted to her.

Avalora stiffened. A muscle in her cheek twitched, but she said nothing. Her silence spoke louder than words.

Jorwyn, however, could not contain herself. The last shred of her composure snapped. She turned sharply on her heel and stormed out, her footsteps clipped and loud against the tiled floor.

Marlowe hesitated only long enough for Norelle’s nod before hurrying after her.

Inside, the atmosphere thickened with unspoken rage. Solana’s lips curled, ready to spit venom, but Selene subtly touched her arm like a warning.

Logan, meanwhile, stood at the center of it all, grinning like a child who had just been crowned king.

“See?” he said smugly, spreading his arms again. “Told you, Av. We’re going to be teammates. Destiny talaga.”

Avalora’s jaw tightened. She forced herself to exhale through her nose, returning to her paperwork rather than give him the satisfaction of an answer.

For her, silence was the only armor she had left.

Logan, of course, did not notice how choking the air is. He leaned casually against the edge of the table, flashing his easy grin at anyone who happened to glance his way. To him, the room’s stiffness was awe, respect, and admiration.

“So—where do I put my stuff?” he asked brightly, dropping his bag on the nearest chair without waiting for an answer. “Do I get, like, a desk? Or is it more of a—move around, do whatever kind of vibe?”

Solana’s jaw flexed visibly. She muttered under her breath, “Yeah, more of a ‘move out, don’t come back’ kind of vibe.”

Selene elbowed her sharply, though her own lips twitched with restrained irritation.

Avalora did not look up from the file she was organizing. Her hands, however, betrayed her. The page edges crinkled faintly under her grip. She kept her expression composed, the perfect mask of professionalism, but every word Logan spoke scraped against her nerves.

“Man, this is exciting,” Logan continued, completely oblivious. “I always knew I would end up with the best unit in BlueSent. No offense to the others, of course. But let’s be real—VARL and SCAR? The elites. Top dogs. And now—me.”

“Top dog suits you,” Solana muttered again, too low for him to catch. This time, Maerith gave her a sharp look, mouthing enough.

Logan plopped himself into a seat directly across from Avalora. She did not lift her eyes. Instead, she focused harder on the papers in front of her, her spine stiff as stone.

“You know,” he said, lowering his voice as though sharing something intimate, “I think the Chief put me here for a reason. Maybe he saw it. You know. The chemistry.”

Selene inhaled sharply through her nose, but Avalora did not rise to it. She simply stacked another set of folders, her movements precise, her silence screaming louder than anything she could say.

Norelle, who had been quiet until now, finally cleared her throat. Her voice was cool, steady, captain-like. “Santiago. You’re here as support. That means when you’re told to move, you move. When you’re told to lift, you lift. Nothing more. Understood?”

Logan grinned, mistaking her clipped tone for playful authority. “Crystal clear, Cap. Don’t worry—you’ll see. I’ll be the best damn support you’ve ever had.”

The women exchanged glances. Each one said the same thing: He has no idea what he’s walked into.

Avalora, still silent, finally closed the folder in her hands. Her gaze flicked briefly toward the door Jorwyn had stormed through, her chest tightening. She did not have to look at Logan to know he was still watching her.

For the first time since the announcement, she let her shoulders sag just slightly. Inside, one thought echoed like a drumbeat:

This is going to break us before it makes us.

Jorwyn's boots struck the tiles like gunfire, and though her chest heaved with fury, her body never seemed to tire. Not really. She could rage for hours and still keep moving. 

Each step was fueled by fury she could barely keep contained. Her fists remained clenched at her sides, nails digging so deep into her palms that a faint sting warned her skin might split.

“Of all the nerve—” she hissed under her breath, words tumbling out fast, sharp, low. “The Chief. Him. That smug bastard. Putting his greasy hands on her like that. Look after him, he says—like we are some daycare, like Avalora is supposed to babysit a spoiled brat who cannot even carry a patient right without hurting them—”

“Jorwyn.”

Marlowe’s voice cut in, steady but firm. She had followed quickly, keeping pace even as Jorwyn’s strides grew erratic. When Jorwyn did not slow, Marlowe reached out and caught her elbow, forcing her to stop at the corner where the hallway opened into another wing.

Jorwyn jerked her arm back, but did not keep walking. Her breathing was harsh, shallow, like she had just finished a sprint.

“Don’t,” Jorwyn snapped, though the word shook more than she would like. “Don’t tell me to calm down. Not now.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Marlowe said evenly, holding her gaze. “I was going to tell you—you’re right.”

Jorwyn blinked. That stopped her more effectively than a hand on her shoulder could.

Marlowe crossed her arms, her expression tight. “The Chief dropped this on us like it’s nothing. Like we don’t bleed for this work, like we don’t train for this. And Logan just waltzes in, grinning like he’s some savior. You think I’m happy about it?”

The heat in Jorwyn’s chest faltered, replaced by something jagged. “Then why didn’t you—why didn’t anyone—” Her voice cracked with frustration. “Why didn’t we fight it?”

Marlowe sighed, lowering her voice. “Because we can’t. Not without consequence. You know how this works.”

Jorwyn raked a hand through her hair, pacing a few steps before leaning against the wall, shoulders trembling. For a moment, silence stretched—until her voice dropped, hoarse.

“He’s going to ruin us.” Her eyes darkened, staring at the floor as if she could already see the wreckage ahead. “He’s going to ruin her.”

Marlowe tilted her head. “Her.”

Jorwyn stiffened. She realized too late what she had admitted. She wanted to backtrack, to mask it with something like the team, but the words clung to the air between them.

Marlowe did not push. Not outright. She only studied her quietly, a flicker of understanding in her gaze. “We’ll handle it,” she said at last. “Together. That’s what matters.”

Jorwyn swallowed hard. Her chest still ached, anger roiling beneath her skin, but Marlowe’s steady presence grounded her enough to breathe.

When the hallway fell quiet again, she whispered the truth she could not bury: “If he hurts Avalora—just once—I swear, Marlowe, I’ll burn him to the ground.”

And with the firmness in her duo’s tone, Marlowe did not doubt she meant it.

The classroom smelled faintly of marker ink and old coffee, a familiar atmosphere for the members of VARL-SCAR. 

Today’s agenda was hypothermia and hyperthermia management, a topic that would normally be routine—except for the fact that Solana, who rarely took the role of lecturer, was standing at the front.

She felt a small thrill as she adjusted the marker in her hand, the faint squeak of her boots against the tiled floor echoing like a declaration. At last, she had the tiny podium, the whiteboard, and the authority to command the room. It was not just about lecturing—it was about proving that she, too, carried knowledge that could save lives.

Solana inhaled, squared her shoulders, and smiled, the kind of proud smile that masked nerves with determination. “Alright,” she began, her voice light yet firm, “we start with the difference between hypothermia and hyperthermia—”

A drawling voice sliced through her sentence.

“Are we high schoolers?”

Every head in the room turned. The words carried the lazy confidence of someone who knew he was disrupting, who wanted to disrupt. The culprit sat half-slouched in his chair, eyes closed as if he were resting through a boring movie.

“That’s basic. We don’t need to differentiate them,” he added, without even opening his eyes.

Solana froze mid-sentence. The room held its breath, tension tightening the air. Some of the team members shifted uncomfortably; others stared, caught between curiosity and sympathy.

Her eyes narrowed, jaw setting as she turned to him. “Trainee,” she said, her voice sharp, laced with authority none of them had quite heard from her before. “If you’re not interested, you can walk out that door.”

The effect was immediate. A murmur rippled through the crew—Solana rarely snapped, let alone threatened dismissal.

But Logan, the source of the disturbance, only cracked one eye open, yawning like a cat. His grin was infuriatingly slow, stretching as if he savored every ounce of the irritation he caused.

“You can’t kick me out,” he said, voice dripping with mockery. “I’m in Av’s care. Which means…” He leaned sideways, his shoulder brushing Avalora’s, forcing her to lean back slightly in her chair. “If I get out, then she gets out too. Right?”

Avalora shot him a look, half a glare, half disbelief. “Logan—” she started, but he only winked at her.

Around them, the shift in seating had already caused ripples of discontent. Normally, Avalora sat with her designated partner, Jorwyn, during training drills like these. It was routine, unspoken, and efficient. But Logan had barged in earlier, all arrogance and insistence, and plopped himself in Jorwyn’s seat as if the arrangement did not matter. Now, Jorwyn sat with Maerith and Norelle—a pairing that looked awkward at best, disrupted at worst.

Solana’s grip tightened around the marker. For a moment, she imagined throwing it straight at Logan’s smirk. But she closed her eyes, drew in a slow breath, and chose instead to exhale the anger. She would not let him derail her, not when she had waited for this chance.

Her lips curved again into that professional smile she had prepared. “As I was saying,” she continued, voice steady though her pulse raced, “the difference between hypothermia and hyperthermia is crucial, even if it sounds simple. Hypothermia is when the body loses heat faster than it can produce, and hyperthermia is when it gains heat faster than it can lose. Both can kill. Both require us to act.”

The marker squeaked against the board as she underlined the words hypo and hyper with deliberate strokes. Logan sighed dramatically from his seat, muttering something under his breath about elementary school lessons.

Still, she pressed on. Each explanation, each diagram, was like pushing against a tide of distraction. She taught with a smile that never quite reached her eyes, pretending his yawns and sighs were nothing more than background noise.

“Remember,” she continued, gesturing to the group, “in hypothermia, watch for shivering, slurred speech, and confusion. In hyperthermia, look for flushed skin, dizziness, and even unconsciousness if it progresses to heatstroke. The faster we recognize these, the faster we save lives. Firefighting isn’t just about flames—it’s about the human body, ours and theirs.”

Her team scribbled notes, nodding along, their respect for her evident. Some glanced sideways at Logan, silently begging him not to interrupt again.

But of course, he did.

Two hours was a long time, and Logan seemed determined to make every ten minutes feel like a test of patience. He drummed his fingers on the desk when she spoke too long. He leaned toward Avalora, whispering comments that earned him quiet, exasperated sighs. He even hummed once, deliberately off-key, until Jorwyn turned in her seat and glared.

“Santiago, do you mind?” Jorwyn snapped at him in a hushed voice.

“Not at all,” Logan replied cheerfully, leaning back as if her anger only fueled him.

Avalora pinched the bridge of her nose. “Logan, just shut up and listen.”

“But I already know this stuff,” he argued, though his posture betrayed the truth—he was not bored, he was entertained. He thrived in the friction, in making Solana work harder for her authority.

By the end of the two hours, Solana’s smile was still plastered on, but her shoulders sagged with invisible weight. She had managed to deliver the lesson in its entirety, diagrams and case studies included, though it had felt like wrestling a storm with nothing but patience.

Finally, she capped the marker with a click that echoed relief. “That’s it for this morning. We’ll break for lunch now,” she announced.

The room stirred with movement—papers shuffled, chairs screeched, conversations picked up in hurried tones. Some muttered about food, others about the lesson, and a few cast weary glances at Logan, as if silently praying he would disappear during the break.

He, of course, stretched like a satisfied cat, arms over his head. “Well, that was fun,” he said, voice loud enough for Solana to hear.

Her back stiffened, but she did not turn. She would not give him the satisfaction. Instead, she walked toward the door, her head held high, marker clutched like a badge of resilience.

For Solana, this lesson had been more than just about hypothermia or hyperthermia. It had been about standing firm even when undermined, about finding her voice in the noise. And though Logan had tried to reduce her moment to a circus, she knew the truth that the team had seen her, heard her, and remembered.

And perhaps, someday, even Logan would realize he could not laugh his way out of respect forever.

The cafeteria was loud, alive with clattering trays and bursts of laughter, but when the members of VARL-SCAR stepped inside with Logan in tow, the noise shifted. Conversations faltered, then swelled again—this time flavored with whispers that traveled faster than smoke. Heads turned, gazes trailed after them, curiosity sharpening every look.

It was impossible not to notice him. Logan walked at the center of their group like he belonged there, his stride confident, chin lifted, his grin plastered on as though the entire room was his audience. And in a way, it was.

“What are you doing with VS, Santiago?” someone called from a nearby table, leaning back in his chair with an amused smirk.

Logan stopped mid-step, the grin never leaving his face. “I’m a Trainee Support,” he announced, flashing the kind of smile that gleamed with self-importance.

The words set off a wave of laughter and teasing among the surrounding firefighters.

“Lucky for VS!” one shouted, earning a round of chuckles.

“They’re being supported by the Chief’s godson? Must be having the time of their lives!” another added, voice thick with sarcasm.

The ribbing only seemed to inflate Logan further. He stood taller, his chest puffed, basking in the attention like a performer who had nailed his act.

But at their table, Jorwyn’s jaw tightened. Every comment felt like sandpaper against her nerves. Ever since stepping into the cafeteria, she had caught nothing but whispers about how fortunate they were to have Logan—fortunate, as though his presence were some kind of blessing. She wanted to laugh in their faces, or maybe scream. 

To her, he was less a gift and more a curse wrapped in smugness.

“Santiago, you do the ordering,” Norelle cut in suddenly, her voice brisk. Her eyes flicked toward the cafeteria line, then back to him, clearly attempting to create a moment of peace—just a few blessed minutes with Logan out of earshot.

Logan tilted his head, feigning confusion, though the smirk stayed. “I can’t. My first day, and you’re already giving me that task? Cruel. Ask FO Robles to do it.”

The way he said it—her name rolling off his tongue with lazy familiarity—made Jorwyn’s teeth grind. He did not deserve to say her name like that.

She stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “You come with me,” she said flatly. Her eyes burned into his, daring him to refuse. “A trainee should watch and learn, right?”

For a heartbeat, Logan blinked at her. Then, realizing the attention of several nearby tables had fixed on them, his grin widened. He rose with a theatrical flourish and snapped into a playful salute.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his voice carrying across the cafeteria.

Jorwyn rolled her eyes, already regretting volunteering herself.

At their table, Solana buried her face into Garnet’s arm, her voice muffled but fierce. “Tanginaaaaaaaaaaa.”

The others exhaled all at once, as though they had been holding their breath since Logan’s arrival that morning. Shoulders slumped, tension finally breaking.

“God, we have to give it to Jor,” Marlowe said, watching their duo approach the line. “She’s putting up with his bullshit so the rest of us can breathe.”

The remark earned chuckles and nods of agreement. The seven women, weary yet united, leaned closer in hushed conversation, their words a mix of complaint and humor.

“Inaanak ng Chief natin eh,” Selene muttered, eyes darting to make sure no one else heard. “We can’t exactly chase him off with a broom.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t wish we could,” Garnet quipped, making the group laugh despite themselves.

“Sige nga,” Marlowe said, lowering her voice, “how do we get rid of him? Hypothetically.”

“Trip him into a training fire pit?” Norelle suggested dryly.

“‘Oops, pasenya na, trainee support, thought you knew how to roll out of the way,’” Solana added, smirking.

They laughed, the sound soft but sharp, a release of the irritation that clung to them. One by one, their voices wove into a shared promise that they would endure him together, and no matter how charmingly he threw his Chief’s connection around, they would not bend to his whims.

“I’m worried about you, Ava,” Selene said then, reaching across the table to place a hand over Avalora’s. Her touch was gentle, fingers curling as if to anchor her.

Avalora’s eyes softened, though her smile was faint. “Don’t worry about me, girls. I’ll handle his proud ass.”

And they believed her. Avalora was steel wrapped in velvet; she never backed down once something—or someone—started to grate. If anyone could outlast Logan’s antics, it was her. Still, Avalora’s gaze slid toward the counter where Jorwyn stood with Logan, a crease forming between her brows.

“We should worry about Wyn,” she admitted quietly. “She might burst and do something reckless.”

At the cashier, Jorwyn rattled off the usual orders, her tone clipped but controlled. The cashier’s pen scribbled down the list, efficient and unbothered. She exhaled, half-distracted, before turning sharply to the man beside her.

“Santiago, anong sayo?”

Logan leaned against the counter, posture relaxed, eyes half-lidded like this was all a game. “I’ll have whatever Av is having.”

The casual mention of Avalora’s name made Jorwyn’s fists itch. She bit down the urge to snap, settling instead for a sharp sigh. Without another word, she repeated the order, her voice cool, professional. The last thing she wanted was to mess up his meal and hear about it later. She had had enough of him for one day.

Together with Marlowe, who had graciously come over to help carry the trays, they balanced the steaming plates back to their table. The food smelled delicious, warm broth mingling with the scent of fried rice and roasted meat, a comforting contrast to the tension knotted in Jorwyn’s chest.

As they set the trays down, chairs scraped, utensils clinked, and conversation swelled again. The team dug in, eating quickly but not without side glances toward Logan, who sat among them with that same smug smile, as though he were the sun around which they all revolved.

And yet, even as laughter flickered in their group, an unspoken truth lay beneath it: this was only the beginning. Logan Santiago was here to stay—for now. And if they wanted to survive his presence without losing their sanity, they would need more than patience. 

They would need each other.

Chapter Text

The sun hung high over BlueSent’s training grounds, its glare shimmering against the helmets and gear that dotted the huge open space. The joint field drill was in full swing, a day-long exercise meant to test coordination across firefighting, rescue, and paramedic units.

For the first time, three tri-units were on the ground together as the already seasoned 3DS-VARL-SCAR, and two rookie teams fresh from their academies. The rookies were jittery, their helmets slightly askew, and their voices too eager when they responded. It was their first taste of a full-scale drill.

Win, shoulders squared and expression steady, stepped forward to address the assembled groups. The natural authority in his stance made silence ripple through the crowd. He had been chosen to lead, flanked by Norelle and Maerith, because this drill leaned heavily on firefighting.

“This isn’t a contest between your units,” Win said firmly, his voice steady over the restless shuffle of boots. “Your real opponents are time, safety, and the pressure bearing down on every mission.”

His words settled like a weight across the rookies’ shoulders. A few straightened, others gulped, but all were listening.

Win lifted his clipboard, eyes scanning. “This will simulate a real emergency. Respond based on your roles. Firefighting is our main focus this week—your rescue and medical branches will serve as support.”

Murmurs spread through the rookies. 

Real fire? Real smoke? 

3DS had already briefed them that nothing would be staged with colored lights or harmless vapor. Today, they would stare down actual flames.

“Because of that,” Win added, “you’ll need to be sharper, faster, and more careful than you’ve ever been. Wala na tayo sa loob ng classroom.”

Beside him, Jorwyn stepped forward, her gaze locked on the mixed line of nervous rookies. “Your captains must set clear instructions before you scatter,” she warned. “Communication is everything. If they call an order, you follow. No matter what.”

Her words had weight, clipped with the authority of someone who had lived through chaotic calls. But her teammates behind her exchanged looks that said it all—Of all people, Jorywyn is preaching about obedience?

Avalora let out a snort she could not quite contain. She leaned closer, her shoulder brushing Jorwyn’s, and whispered, “You’re so full of it—cute though.” Her eyes glittered with mischief.

Jorwyn scowled and turned her head away, though the faintest pink brushed her ears. Avalora giggled, victorious.

“What did you tell the firewoman?” Logan piped up suddenly, nudging Avalora’s arm like an impatient child desperate to be included.

“Wala,” Avalora replied, her tone clipped but calm. “Listen to the discussion.”

As the rookies shuffled into their lines, one of them wrinkled their nose at the wall where the electrical box sat, half-hidden behind a sheet of metal plating. A faint hum buzzed from it, subtle but constant.

“Don’t lean against that side,” Marlowe warned casually, tapping the rookies’ helmets as she passed. “Old wiring—safe enough if you don’t push it, but the heat will make it angry.”

A couple of rookies laughed nervously, as if she were joking, but Jorwyn’s sharp glance said otherwise. Avalora’s brow furrowed, following the sound of the low vibration. For a moment, she thought of saying something, but the bell rang before she could.

The rookie units scattered to their positions, shouting commands with voices that cracked but carried. Smoke began to rise, the faint tang of accelerant curling into the air. 

Team one’s rookies would be working alongside Win, Ron, Maerith, Selene, Garnet, and Marlowe. The second set, meanwhile, was assigned to Eon, Mar, Jorwyn, Norelle, Solana, Avalora, and the ever-unwelcome Logan.

“Wyn, dito ka,” Avalora called, patting the space beside her on the bench.

Jorwyn glanced over, arms still crossed, eyes fixed on the rookies. She finally began moving toward her when, like a shadow slipping between them, Logan darted in and plopped himself onto the spot.

Her stride halted, fists curling at her sides.

Avalora’s smile dropped. “Get up, Logan,” she said, voice firm with warning. “Wyn’s supposed to sit there, not you.”

But Logan only leaned back, grinning wider. “Relax, Av.  I’ve got to have the best seat in the house.”

Avalora’s brows knit, patience thinning. “You should be up front with the others, watching the drill. That’s the best way to learn—lalo na ngayon, firefighting ang focus nila.”

“Nah,” Logan said, folding his muscled arms across his chest and crossing one leg over the other. He rested his chin on his hand, turning his face deliberately toward her. “I’ll just learn from the best.” His smirk deepened as he flexed subtly, his bicep tightening beneath his sleeve. “Like the view?”

Avalora rolled her eyes, heat prickling her cheeks—not from flattery, but from sheer irritation. She stood abruptly, her bench scraping against the gravel. “You stay here,” she snapped.

To her surprise, Logan rose as well, towering with that same infuriating grin.

Before Avalora could retort, a shadow fell over them. A broad-shouldered man stepped up behind her. His presence alone shifted the air.

“Santiago,” he said flatly.

Logan turned, then brightened instantly. “Daez!”

Eon did not return the grin. His eyes were cool, his stance deliberate. “Heard you’re training with us now.” He tilted his head toward the field. “Come with me.”

Logan hesitated, his smile faltering for the first time. His eyes darted back to Avalora, reluctant to leave. “I’ll go with him sandali lang ah,” he muttered, as though promising her something.

Eon simply slung an arm around Logan’s shoulders and steered him away. Over his shoulder, he mouthed toward Avalora, Akong bahala dito.

Avalora exhaled, the tension draining from her like a punctured balloon. “God, finally.” The air around her felt clearer, her chest lighter.

Solana jogged over, slightly winded, her face split with a triumphant grin. “I asked Eon’s help.”

Avalora blinked. “What?”

“I told him to pull the trainee away from you. Good thing they were classmates at the Academy. He didn’t even hesitate.” Solana grinned wider. “You looked like you needed CPR yourself. Nakakasakal na siya, ‘no?”

Avalora pressed her hands over her face, groaning. “It’s only been a week with him. Pero parang pagod na pagod na ako—as if it’s been a year.”

Solana’s laughter bubbled. She nudged Avalora with her elbow. “Nanghihina ka na, noh?”

“Ha?” Avalora frowned.

“Eh ikaw ba naman, ilayo sa asawa mo.” Solana’s lips jutted out, pointing directly at Jorwyn, who was now kneeling by the rescue team, correctly demonstrating how to stabilize a dummy patient before a two-man carry.

Avalora’s cheeks flamed. “Tse,” she muttered, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

Solana cackled. “’Di na nga kayo nakakapag-bebe time!”

“Shut up,” Avalora said, though she laughed with her. “Baka marinig niya tayo.”

“Omgggg,” Solana squealed under her breath, clapping her hands together. “Ako bahala sa inyo. Mamaya magkakaroon kayo moment. Trust your ship president.”

Avalora shook her head, but she could not fight the smile that bloomed on her lips. Despite Logan’s endless antics, despite the chaos of the drill, one truth steadied her that she and Jorwyn always found their way back to each other. And no trainee support, no matter how annoying, could change that.

As the drill pressed forward into its next phase, something unexpected broke the rhythm. What should have been a straightforward task—snuffing out a staged blaze—suddenly dragged far longer than planned. 

The second rookie fire team fought stubbornly with their hoses and extinguishers. The blaze ate hungrily at the wooden panels, hissing when the rookies’ hoses splashed too wide. Water sprayed against the nearby metal wall, and a sharp crackle answered back. The faint hum from earlier grew louder, vibrating through the plates like an uneasy heartbeat.

Behind one of those walls was a real electrical box.

Jorwyn’s eyes flicked toward it, narrowing. She knew that sound. Heat shimmered off the surface, rippling the air as if warning them to keep back.

“Focus your spray away from the wall!” Mar barked, but his order was drowned by the rookies’ shouts and the roar of the fire.

Then came the snap. Sharp, violent, like bone breaking in the dark. Sparks burst from the metal seam, spitting across the floor. The hum pitched into a screech, and in the next breath, the electrical box behind the wall surrendered to the heat. Insulation sagged, wires spat smoke—then fire leapt, real and ravenous.

The shriek of the facility alarm followed, raw and merciless, nothing like the measured tones of the training drills.

Panic was instant.

The rookies, unaccustomed to the raw sound of danger, broke formation. Some screamed, others ran in circles, bumping into one another, clawing for exits that were not there. The gates—locked for drill safety—now became a trap, preventing escape. Their fists pounded against steel, their voices breaking in terror.

“Everybody, calm down!” Win’s voice boomed, but his command was drowned by the alarm.

Norelle barked at Garnet, “Command room—now! Get that alarm killed!” Garnet sprinted off, heart pounding.

“Over here! Rookies, come here!” Jorwyn’s voice cut sharply, her hand slashing through the haze, beckoning the younger ones toward her. Her tone carried enough authority to draw a few back from hysteria.

Meanwhile, Eon and Mar did not hesitate. They lunged for the bright-red extinguishers mounted against the wall—ones designed specifically for electrical fires—and charged the smoking box, dousing it in bursts of chemical mist.

But chaos was winning ground.

Avalora, who had steadied so many others before, faltered. Her breath caught, panic flashing through her chest when the alarm clawed at her ears. Her hands trembled as she tried to orient herself—until a grip seized her arm.

“Av!” Logan’s voice. He did not wait as he yanked her away from the thrashing bodies, dragging her across the training hall. Avalora stumbled against him, trying to protest, but the fire’s glare and the rookies’ screams drowned her words.

Logan pulled her toward the far side of the hall, unaware of what he had triggered.

With a grinding clank, the gates on that side began to slide down, sealing shut. They were not meant for escape—they were containment barriers, part of the facility’s fireproofing system. Within seconds, Avalora and Logan were cut off, entombed in darkness.

The sudden silence was almost worse than the chaos.

“Av?” Logan’s voice broke the dark, trembling. “It’s… It’s dark. I’m scared.”

Avalora forced a breath. Her chest still heaved, but she made herself speak. “Calm down. Just… breathe. With me. In, out.” She did not know if she was instructing him or herself.

She staggered to the gate, palms slamming against its cold steel. “Hello?!” she shouted. Her fists banged over and over. The echo only mocked her.

Logan copied her movements halfheartedly, but soon sank to the floor.

“God, you shouldn’t have dragged me here!” Avalora snapped, pounding again. Her voice cracked, dropping into a mutter only she could hear. “I’m always getting stuck… elevators, drills… bakit ganito lagi.” 

Her mind flicked back to another trap, another moment of breathless fear—except back then, Jorwyn had been with her. 

Jorwyn, steady, unyielding.

The thought slipped out as a desperate cry. “Jorwyn!” she shouted, throat raw. “Hoy, Robles! Hindi mo pa ba na-realize na wala ako riyan?!”

Her fists beat harder, her voice rising with each word. “Pag nakalabas ako rito at hindi mukha mo ang una kong nakita—makikita mo kamao ko!”

Logan only watched from the floor, legs stretched, his smirk unseen but palpable. “Give it up, Av. They’ll notice we’re gone. Relax, they will come.”

She whirled, glaring into the dark where his voice came from. “This is your fault.”

He shrugged against the wall. “If that Robles really cared about you, she’d be here by now. But she’s not, is she? Who’s the one who got you out of danger? Ako.” His voice curled smugly, like a taunt.

Avalora’s pulse spiked, fury overriding fear. “We were surrounded by rookies. I heard her voice—she was protecting them. Inuna niya lang sila, because personally I’d do the same.”

“Then you’re not her priority.” Logan’s tone was lazy, but the jab was sharp. “Think about it, Av. If you mattered, you’d already be out here.”

Her fists froze on the gate. The words stung because of their cruelty, not their truth. She shut her eyes tight. “Shut up,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against the cold steel.

Logan leaned back against the wall, smirk sharp even in the dark. “You know what’s funny? Robles always swoops in to pull you out. Makes me wonder if you’d even survive ten minutes without her.”

Avalora stiffened. The words slid under her skin like glass splinters because the worst part was—he was not entirely wrong. Her chest tightened, the air in the narrow space too thin. 

I can help myself. I don’t always need her. So why does it feel like I do?

And then the wall shifted. Metal groaned. A slice of light cut into the dark, stabbing her eyes. Avalora shielded her face with her arm, blinking until the glow softened.

When her vision cleared, it was not the smirk of Logan she saw.

It was Jorwyn.

“Av!” Jorwyn’s voice cracked, her face pale with worry. She shoved through the gap, arms wrapping Avalora in a fierce embrace before Avalora could even react.

The heat of that hug—steady, grounding, overflowing with relief—stole Avalora’s breath more than the fire ever could.

For a moment, the world shrank to the circle of those arms, the rapid hammering of Jorwyn’s heart, and the unspoken promise in the way she held her.

Avalora froze in Jorwyn’s arms, the shock of the embrace pinning her more than the heavy gates ever did. She was not used to this—not from Jorwyn, not from the woman who usually stood two steps behind her, silent and watchful, guarding without asking anything in return.

The warmth of her arms seeped through Avalora’s jacket, steady and anchoring. She should have pulled back, should have said something sharp to cut the tension, but instead her mind spun in wild loops.

Why now? Why like this?

Her throat tightened. A moment ago, she was trapped in darkness, Logan’s smirk biting into her nerves, his words slithering in her head. She had almost believed him.

Avalora’s arms froze at her sides. For a heartbeat, she could not bring herself to hug back. Logan’s words still burned in her ears.

But then, Jorwyn’s voice, Jorwyn’s hands, Jorwyn’s chest against hers, rising and falling too fast, proof that she had been a priority all along.

Avalora pressed her palms weakly against Jorwyn’s back, meaning to push her away, but her body betrayed her as her hands stayed there, lingering, as if craving the solidity. She closed her eyes, just for a second, and let herself feel the truth that she was not alone. Not when Jorwyn was here.

And yet, guilt flared. What are you doing, Avalora? This is not supposed to happen. You can’t always rely on her like this. You should stand on your own.

But her heart, traitorous, whispered something else. It feels safe here. Don’t let go yet.

She inhaled sharply, forcing herself to stiffen her shoulders. “You took your time,” she managed, voice trembling despite the words. It was meant to sound scolding, but instead it sounded fragile.

Jorwyn only drew her closer, her grip unyielding as she whispered, rough and urgent, “Never again, Av. As long as I’m here, I won’t let danger touch you.”

Avalora’s chest ached.

The moment was shattered when footsteps thundered outside the half-open gate. A flood of light and voices broke through as the rest of the team arrived.

“Avalora Arceta!” Selene’s voice called, relief spilling out as she hurried forward. Eon and Mar wrestled the gate higher, and smoke drifted into the fresh air.

Avalora jolted back, stepping away from Jorwyn as if caught in something she should not have been. Her arms dropped to her sides, fists tightening to hide the tremor.

Jorwyn, however, did not move quickly enough. The way she still lingered half a step close was obvious to anyone paying attention.

Logan, of course, noticed first. He had pushed himself up from the ground, brushing dust off his pants, and when he saw the tableau—the frantic rescue, Jorwyn clutching Avalora, Avalora flushed and shaken—his grin was instant, sharp as glass.

“Well, well,” he drawled, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. “Guess I was wrong. Avalora might be your priority after all, Robles. Look how fast you came running.”

Jorwyn’s jaw flexed, but she did not take the bait.

Logan was not finished. He turned his smirk on Avalora. “Must feel good, huh? Having your personal bodyguard bust down walls for you. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you like being saved.”

Avalora’s face burned hotter than the fire behind her. “Shut your mouth, Logan, kanina ka pa,” she snapped, sharper than she intended.

“Ooh,” he mocked, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Ardiente.”

“Enough,” Norelle cut in, stepping forward like a shield. Her glare could have cut stone. “Logan, if you don’t want to get benched before this drill is over, keep your comments to yourself.”