The hotel room was a whirlwind of activity. Adria moved like an automaton, throwing clothes into her suitcase. She didn't fold anything. She just needed to be gone.

Her phone lit up on the bed. A news notification.

BREAKING: Actress Campbell Lowe involved in minor collision. Hansen Heir spotted rushing into Lenox Hill ER.

Adria picked up the phone. The photo was blurry, taken from a distance. It showed Damon, his tuxedo jacket gone, carrying Campbell in his arms toward the emergency entrance. It looked romantic. Heroic.

Adria let out a short, dry laugh. It sounded like something breaking.

Her phone rang. Mother.

She answered, putting it on speaker as she zipped the suitcase.

"Adria! Where are you?" Mrs. Barr's voice was shrill. "You left without saying goodbye to Mrs. Hansen. And where is Damon? People are talking."

"He's at the hospital," Adria said, her voice flat. "With Campbell."

"Oh," her mother paused. "Well, that girl always was dramatic. But really, Adria, you need to fight for your place. You just ran away. It makes you look weak."

Weak.

Adria looked at her shaking hands. She looked at the scars on her soul that her mother couldn't see.

"Goodbye, Mother," Adria said. She hung up. She had never hung up on her mother before.

She grabbed her bag and walked out.

At Lenox Hill Hospital, the fluorescent lights hummed with an irritating buzz.

Damon stood in the private trauma room, staring at Campbell. She was sitting on the bed, holding a tissue to her nose. There was a small scratch on her cheek. A Band-Aid would have sufficed.

"My neck hurts, Damon," she whined, reaching for him. "I think I have whiplash."

Damon looked at her with pure, unadulterated loathing. "You drove your car into a parked fire hydrant at five miles an hour, Campbell. The airbags didn't even deploy."

"I was upset!" she cried. "Because of her!"

Damon's personal assistant, a sharp-faced man named Ken, hurried into the room. He looked nervous.

"Mr. Hansen," Ken whispered. "I have the information."

Damon turned away from Campbell instantly. "Tell me."

"She changed her ticket," Ken said. "She's on the 6:00 AM flight to Nanxi City. It just took off."

Damon felt the floor drop out from under him. Gone. She was gone again.

He spun around, grabbing his jacket off the chair.

"Damon? Where are you going?" Campbell screeched. "You can't leave me!"

Damon stopped at the door. He looked back at her. "Get an Uber, Campbell. Or call your agent. I don't care."

"If you walk out that door, I'll tell the press you abandoned me!"

"Tell them whatever you want," Damon said, his voice deadly calm. "I'm done."

He walked out, leaving her screaming his name.

He pulled out his phone as he strode down the hospital corridor, dialing a number he knew by heart.

"Prep the Gulfstream," he ordered. "I'm going to Nanxi City. File a flight plan. Now."

He hung up and dialed again.

"Chief Harrell."

The voice on the other end was groggy. "Hansen? It's 1 AM in Nanxi City."

"That transfer request," Damon said, pushing through the hospital doors into the cool night air. "I'm calling in a favor. I want Station 19."

There was a pause. "Station 19? The penal colony? Are you sure? That's a political minefield, Hansen, even for you."

"I don't care," Damon said, getting into his car. He slammed the door and ignited the engine. "I want the transfer effective immediately."

"Okay," Harrell sighed. "Welcome to the rainy city."

Damon peeled out of the parking lot, the engine roaring. He looked up at the sky, where the first light of dawn was breaking.

Run all you want, Adria, he thought, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his leather gloves creaked. I'll chase you to the ends of the earth.

The rain in Nanxi City wasn't like the rain in New York. It was a constant, grey mist that soaked into your bones. Adria watched it streak against the window of her taxi as she left Nanxi City International Airport.

It felt right. It felt like the world was crying so she didn't have to.

The hospital had arranged a temporary apartment for her in Belltown. It was modern, sterile, and cold. Adria dropped her bags in the middle of the living room. The silence was absolute.

She walked to the window. The Sky Spire poked through the low-hanging clouds like a syringe.

New city. New life. No Damon.

She took out her phone. She opened her contacts and scrolled to "Damon." Her thumb hovered over the 'Block' button. She held it there for a long time, her heart aching.

She couldn't do it. She hated herself for it, but she couldn't sever the last digital thread. Instead, she edited the name.

Stranger.

She tossed the phone onto the couch and went to unpack.

At a private airfield outside the city, the private jet taxied to a halt. A black SUV was waiting on the tarmac, windshield wipers slapping rhythmically.

Damon descended the stairs, ignoring the umbrella the driver offered. He let the rain hit his face. It cooled the burning rage that had been fueling him for six hours.

"Take me to Headquarters," he said, sliding into the back seat.

An hour later, he was standing in Chief Harrell's office. Harrell was a mountain of a man with a grey mustache. He looked at Damon with skepticism.

"You know they eat captains for breakfast at 19, right?" Harrell asked, handing over a badge.

Damon took the badge. "I'm not hungry."

He drove himself to the station. Station 19 was an old brick building in a rougher part of town. It looked like a fortress.

Inside, the atmosphere was rowdy. In the beanbag room, a group of firefighters were laughing. A young guy, Landon, was doing an impression of a man with a limp.

"And then he said, 'Walk it off!'" Landon crowed. The room erupted in laughter.

The door banged open.

Damon stood there. He was wearing his dress blues, the medals on his chest catching the light. He looked like a recruiting poster for war.

The laughter died instantly.

Damon walked into the room. He didn't smile. He didn't introduce himself. He just scanned them, cataloging weaknesses.

"I'm Captain Hansen," he said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried to the back of the room. "And this looks like a daycare center, not a fire station."

A burly firefighter crossed his arms. "We heard we were getting a rich kid. Didn't know he came with an attitude."

Damon walked right up to him. He was two inches taller. "Ten minutes. Full gear. Bunker drills."

"It's pouring rain out there," Landon protested.

Damon turned his head slowly. "Does fire take a day off when it rains, probie?"

Silence.

"Move," Damon barked.

They moved.

Damon walked into the Captain's office and shut the door. The blinds were closed. He leaned back against the door, closing his eyes. His hand-the one he had cut-throbbed under the fresh bandage.

He pulled out his phone. He stared at Adria's number.

He wanted to call her. He wanted to tell her he was here, in her city, breathing her air. But fear, cold and unfamiliar, gripped him. If he called, she might run again. And he was running out of places to chase her.

He put the phone down, face down, on the desk.

"Soon," he whispered to the empty room.

The rain was coming down in sheets now, turning the station's back lot into a mud pit.

"Again!" Damon roared.

The crew of Station 19 was gasping for air. They were in full turnout gear-helmets, tanks, coats. Fifty pounds of extra weight. They had just finished their tenth set of stairs.

Landon was bent double, hands on his knees, retching. "He's... he's a machine," he wheezed. "Is he even human?"

Perry, the Lieutenant, wiped mud from his face. "Whatever he is, his file is a black hole. Heard he was military, but it's all redacted. Guy's a ghost."

Damon was running with them. He was in full gear too. He wasn't even breathing hard. His military training kicked in-pain was just information. Exhaustion was a mindset.

He ran because if he stopped, he would think about Adria. He would think about Campbell touching his arm. He would think about the look of terror in Adria's eyes when she saw him.

"Last set!" Damon yelled, sprinting past them. "If you can't carry your own weight, how are you going to carry a victim?"

The insult worked. They gritted their teeth and ran.

After the drill, the locker room was silent except for the sound of heavy breathing and velcro ripping. Damon went to the gym.

He wrapped his hands and started hitting the heavy bag. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Left hook. Why did you leave?

Right cross. Why didn't you tell me?

Uppercut. I miss you.

He hit the bag so hard the chain rattled ominously. His knuckles, already raw, began to bleed through the wraps.

Perry stood in the doorway, holding a water bottle. "Captain. You need to hydrate."

Damon stopped the bag with his shoulder. He took the water and downed it in three seconds. "I'm fine."

KLANG-KLANG-KLANG.

The station alarm blared. The lights flashed red.

"Engine 19, Ladder 19. Structure Fire. Third Alarm. 405 Pine Street."

Damon's eyes shifted. The torture in them vanished, replaced by cold, tactical focus.

"Let's go!" he shouted, sliding down the pole before the tone finished.

Adria was checking a chart in the Trauma Bay. It was her first shift. She had already introduced herself to the team, keeping it brief and professional. She declined the lunch invitation. She ignored the whispers about her coming from a prestigious program back East.

"Dr. Barr," the charge nurse called out. "Incoming. Multi-casualty from a structure fire."

Adria capped her pen. "I'm ready."

The ambulance bay doors hissed open. The smell of smoke and burnt flesh wafted in. Adria's pulse remained steady. This she could do. Blood and bone she understood.

She stabilized a burn victim, intubating with practiced ease. As she stripped off her gloves, she heard two paramedics talking near the nurses' station.

"Yeah, the roof collapsed. The new Captain at 19 is insane. He went back in for a kid. Took a beam to the arm."

"Station 19?" Adria paused. The number sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it.

"Is he coming in?"

"Yeah, pulling up now. Refused transport until the fire was out. Guy's got a death wish."

Adria frowned. A firefighter with a death wish. Sounds like a handful.

Damon sat in the back of the ambulance. His left forearm was throbbing with a sickening, deep ache. He couldn't rotate his wrist.

"It's broken, Cap," Perry said, looking at the swelling. "You need the hospital."

"I need to file the report," Damon grunted, sweat dripping off his soot-stained nose.

"You're going to the hospital," Perry insisted. "Or I'm calling the Chief."

Damon glared at him, but the pain was blinding. "Fine. Which one?"

"Nanxi Affiliated. It's the closest Trauma One."

Damon froze. Nanxi Affiliated.

He looked out the window as the ambulance turned the corner. The red emergency sign loomed ahead.

Fate, it seemed, had a sense of humor.

"Let's go," Damon said, a grim smile touching his lips.