4:15 AM. The arm didn't need to sound - Kyle's eyes opened exactly two minutes before, just like they had every morning this week. Seven days of practiced precision, of deliberately building a shield of routine against a world that felt too bright, too loud, too normal after everything that had happened.

  The studio apartment still felt new, though he'd arranged it to be as forgettable as possible. A bed. A dresser. A small table with a single chair. Nothing personal on the walls. Nothing to suggest the man who lived here was anything but another Amazon driver starting another mundane day.

  4:17 AM. Feet on the floor. The careful regution of his body temperature - still conscious effort, like learning a new nguage. Too much emotion, too little control, and the ambient temperature would spike. The melted arm clock from his first night back served as a reminder, tucked in the back of his bottom drawer.

  The coffee maker was prepped from the night before, a new habit he was cultivating. One cup, bck. No sugar - sugar meant variation, and variation meant thinking, feeling, remembering. The oatmeal measured exactly: one cup of water, half cup of pin oats. No dried fruit, no honey, no cinnamon. Just fuel for the day.

  4:32 AM. Shower. Exactly three minutes, water just below scalding. His coworkers at Amazon still acted surprised by his sudden change in demeanor. two weeks ago he'd been joking with them, sharing lunch breaks, being the same Kyle they'd known before... before everything. Now they watched him with concern, whispering when they thought he couldn't hear. Yesterday, Shannon from HR had tried to catch his eye, probably wanting to ask if everything was okay.

  The Amazon uniform was clean, pressed, perfect. The badge with his smiling photo felt like it belonged to someone else - a Kyle from just fourteen days ago who hadn't yet realized how impossible it would be to just slide back into his old life.

  4:45 AM. Keys, wallet, phone. The communicator went into his pocket st, its weight still familiar despite everything. One week wasn't enough to break fifteen years of carrying it, nor did he want to. It stayed charged, stayed with him - not because he pnned to use it again after the Nathan incident, but because he needed that weight. Needed the reminder of why he was choosing this careful distance, this precise routine. Needed to feel that small burden as penance for everything that had happened with Zoe.

  The drive to the warehouse was exactly twelve minutes in the pre-dawn darkness. Same route, same lights, same NPR broadcast providing just enough of the world to feel connected without having to engage. His parking spot was still wherever he found it - he hadn't been doing this long enough for the other drivers to adapt to his new habits. Their concerned gnces followed him across the lot, remembering the Kyle who used to bring donuts on Fridays, who knew everyone's coffee orders, who always had time to chat.

  5:00 AM. Route assignment, package loading, vehicle inspection. Each motion now practiced to mechanical precision, though the routine was still new enough that he had to think through each step. The other drivers' morning chatter felt like waves breaking against his self-imposed isotion. Their voices carried hints of concern, confusion about his sudden transformation from the guy who remembered everyone's birthdays to this silent automaton.

  "Hey Kyle!" Shannon's voice cut through his concentration as he checked the van's tires. "We're doing a birthday thing for Mike at lunch. Your route brings you back around then, right?"

  The communicator shifted in his pocket as he straightened up, its weight a reminder of why he couldn't afford to be that Kyle anymore. "Route's unpredictable," he replied, voice carefully neutral, eyes focused on the clipboard in his hands. Seven days ago, he would have rearranged his whole schedule to be there. Seven days ago, he hadn't yet realized how dangerous it was to let himself feel too much, care too much.

  "Come on, man," Mike called from across the warehouse. "You haven't had lunch with us all week. Everything okay?"

  The temperature around Kyle rose slightly before he caught himself, forced it back down. The van's side mirror showed his reflection - same uniform, same face, same Kyle on the outside. Nobody could see the fire that lived beneath his skin now, the constant effort it took to keep it contained.

  "Just busy," he said, the words coming out ftter than he intended. "Need to maintain schedule." He could feel their eyes on him as he climbed into the van, could practically hear the concerned whispers that would follow his departure. Last week's Kyle would have cracked a joke, made some self-deprecating comment to ease their worry. Last week's Kyle hadn't yet understood the true cost of coming home.

  The sun wasn't up yet when he pulled out of the warehouse, but he could feel it coming. Fire called to fire, even the distant nuclear fusion of a star resonating with what burned inside him now. Another thing to control, to suppress, to ignore. The communicator pressed against his thigh as he shifted in the seat, finding the exact position he'd used for the past week. Its presence was like a small ember, carefully banked but never quite extinguished.

  His route today took him through the U-District. Two weeks ago, that would have meant stopping at his favorite coffee cart, chatting with the owner, maybe grabbing an extra pastry. Now it was just streets and addresses, packages to be delivered with mechanical efficiency. He'd memorized the traffic patterns, calcuted the optimal routes that would minimize human interaction.

  The first package went to a sleepy grad student who barely registered his presence. The second to an empty porch. The third-

  The communicator crackled in his pocket.

  The communicator crackled in his pocket just as he was finishing his third delivery of the morning. 8:17 AM - he'd been running ahead of schedule, trying to lose himself in the routine.

  "Anyone near the U-District Value Vilge?" Alex's voice was tight with controlled urgency. "Zoe's choker is damaged. Hologram's failing."

  Kyle's hand tightened on the steering wheel, the leather creaking slightly under his grip. The temperature in the van rose several degrees before he caught himself, forced it back down. Seven days of carefully maintained distance wavered at just the mention of her name.

  "What's her status?" Rose asked.

  "Locked herself in a changing room. Store just opened, not many customers yet, but that won't st. She was trying to find clothes that would..." Alex paused. "That would accommodate her true form. Apparently caught the choker's gem on something. Staff is getting agitated about the locked room."

  "I'm stuck in traffic on I-5," Hazel responded. "Construction's got everything backed up."

  Kyle gnced at his delivery schedule. Three blocks away. The old Kyle would already be turning the van around, rushing to help despite everything that had happened between them. The new Kyle, the Kyle he needed to be, kept driving straight ahead, even as the communicator continued to spill urgency into the quiet van.

  "She's not responding to texts," Alex continued. "We need someone there before the morning shopping crowd picks up. If anyone's closer..."

  The silence that followed felt heavy, expectant. Kyle's right hand drifted toward his pocket, then stopped. Seven days. Seven days of carefully constructed walls between himself and everything he'd left behind. Seven days of learning how to be nobody again.

  But this was Zoe. Seven feet of terrified, transformed Zoe, trapped in a changing room with a failing disguise. Zoe who hated him, who had every right to hate him, who he'd promised himself he'd never burden with his presence again.

  The delivery van's electric motor hummed as Kyle pulled into the Value Vilge parking lot, deliberately choosing a spot near the back, away from the few early morning customers' vehicles. Seven days of rigid control were about to be purposefully shattered.

  "I'm on site," he spoke into the communicator, voice carefully neutral. "Going to need a distraction in about two minutes."

  He didn't wait for a response. Through the windshield, he could see the store's front entrance, its early morning quiet about to be dramatically disturbed. Kyle lowered his right hand toward the floor of the van, toward the massive lithium battery pack that ran the length of the vehicle. The temperature began to rise, carefully directed, precisely controlled. Not enough to cause a catastrophic explosion, but more than enough to trigger a battery fire - one of the most notorious and difficult types to extinguish.

  He could feel Zoe's presence inside the store - the subtle heat signature of her transformed body distinct from the human patterns around her. Seven days of maintaining emotional distance threatened to crack. He pushed the feelings down, focusing instead on the mechanical details of what needed to be done. Just another rescue. Just another extraction. The fact that it was Zoe didn't matter. Couldn't matter.

  The first wisps of smoke began curling up from beneath the van just as the battery monitoring systems screamed to life. He'd need to move fast - get Zoe out, then return to py his part as the concerned Amazon driver dealing with a vehicle emergency. The fire department would take their time with this one; lithium battery fires were notorious for reigniting.

  Time to move.

  As smoke began billowing from beneath the van, Kyle burst through the Value Vilge entrance, his Amazon uniform lending authority to his warning. "Electric vehicle fire in the parking lot! Everyone clear the building - potential explosion risk!"

  The few early morning customers and staff immediately responded to the urgency in his voice. Through the growing chaos, he could sense Zoe's heat signature intensifying from one of the changing rooms - fear making her harder to disguise even with the damaged choker. The store's fire arm began bring as someone pulled the emergency switch, adding to the confusion.

  "Clear out, clear out!" he continued shouting, herding people toward the side exit, away from where his van was starting to be engulfed in increasingly toxic smoke. The evacuation would give him precious moments while everyone focused on the more immediate threat outside. Battery fires were notorious - they'd be expecting secondary explosions, which meant no one would be rushing back inside.

  The changing room area was now empty except for one locked door, the handle showing deep scratch marks from transformed fingers.

  "Zoe," he said softly, pitching his voice just loud enough to carry over the fire arm but gentle enough not to startle. "Everyone's evacuated. It's just me."

  A low growl came from behind the door - a sound no human throat could make. Kyle kept his distance from the door, knowing her enhanced senses would pick up his presence, his scent. Knowing she'd recognize him despite their years apart, despite everything that had happened.

  "I know I'm the st person you want to see," he continued, keeping his voice steady, calming. "But your choker's failing, the building's being evacuated, and there's a very convenient distraction happening in the parking lot. I can get you out of here without anyone seeing what happened."

  Through the door, he could feel her heat signature shifting - agitation, fear, and something else. Anger? Probably. He deserved that. But right now, that didn't matter. Nothing mattered except getting her to safety.

  "You don't have to talk to me. Don't have to see me ever again after this. But please, Zoe. Let me help. Just this once."

  "Get out of here, Kyle," Zoe's human voice came through the door, though it ended in that inhuman growl. The sound of cws scraping against the inside of the changing room punctuated her words. "I don't need your help. I never needed your help."

  "No, you don't," Kyle kept his voice steady, unthreatening. "But right now I'm your best option. The fire department's going to be here any minute. They'll evacuate the whole building, check every room. And my van's battery fire is going to keep them busy long enough to get you somewhere safe."

  A thump against the door - probably her transformed height making the small space unbearable. The fire arm continued its shrill warning, and outside he could hear the first sirens approaching.

  "I still hate you," she said, her voice tight with barely controlled rage. "This doesn't change anything. You destroyed everything I had with Hazel. Everything."

  "I know," Kyle said simply. "And you can go back to hating me the moment we're clear of this. But right now, we're running out of time."

  A long moment passed, punctuated only by the wail of approaching sirens and the continuing fire arm. Then the lock clicked.

  "If you tell anyone about this..." The door opened just enough to reveal a glimpse of her transformed state, her seven-foot vulpine form barely contained by the changing room, the damaged choker flickering uselessly at her throat.

  "Bnkets," Kyle said quietly, nodding toward the home goods section. "Far aisle. Cover yourself and go out the front. The van's smoke will give you cover."

  Zoe's growl was her only acknowledgment before she moved - even hunched over, her transformed grace was predatory, efficient. Kyle turned away, not watching as she snatched a bnket. He needed to be back outside, pying his part. The first fire engine's sirens were deafening now.

  Through the front windows, he could see his van was thoroughly engulfed in the signature smoke of a lithium battery fire, the dark plume forcing people to back away from the front lot. Perfect cover. Behind him, Zoe's heat signature moved with deliberate purpose, the bnket masking her true form as she shuffled toward the exit like just another homeless person fleeing the commotion.

  Kyle burst out of the store ahead of her, immediately drawing attention as he waved frantically at the arriving fire truck. "It just started smoking!" he called out, his Amazon uniform lending credibility to his distress. The thick smoke from the van was forcing everyone further back, their attention completely focused on the spectacle of the burning vehicle.

  In his peripheral vision, a bnket-covered figure slipped out of the store and quickly disappeared around the corner, lost in the chaos and smoke. No one even gnced her way - the van commanded all attention, especially as the battery made an ominous popping sound.

  "Sir! Sir!" A firefighter was approaching him. "Is that your vehicle?"

  "Yeah," Kyle said, letting genuine concern fill his voice. Amazon would have questions. So many questions. "I just noticed smoke coming from underneath and then..." He gestured helplessly at the van.

  As the firefighter continued asking him questions about the van, Kyle's eyes drifted to where Zoe had disappeared around the corner. The smoke from his burning vehicle couldn't mask the ache in his chest. She was safe - that's what mattered. Not her hatred of him, not the way her growl still carried the same anger it had fifteen years ago. Just her safety.

  He'd never told anyone how he'd tracked her movements during those early days after she'd been taken, how he'd searched until exhaustion cimed him. How his eventual pyrokinetic abilities had come too te to save her from what the Biomancers had done. Another failure to add to the weight he carried, the guilt that made him deserve her hatred.

  "Sir? Did you notice any warning lights before the smoke started?" The firefighter's question pulled him back to the present moment.

  "No," Kyle said, forcing himself to focus on maintaining his cover story even as he felt Zoe's heat signature moving further away. "Everything seemed normal until it just..." He gestured at the van, now thoroughly engulfed as the battery fire resisted the firefighters' initial attempts to suppress it.

  She was safe. That would have to be enough. It was more than he deserved.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The bnket reeked of mothballs and old perfume, but it was better than being seen. Zoe kept her head down, her transformed height making even that simple task difficult as she hurried through side streets and alleyways. Stupid. So monumentally stupid. Of course the choker would fail after she'd cwed at it this morning, raging at her reflection, at what she'd become.

  Her enhanced senses made everything worse - she could smell herself, really smell herself. Seven days of barely leaving her apartment, of drowning in self-loathing, had left an odor that her transformed nose couldn't ignore. That's all she'd wanted today. Food. Clean clothes that actually fit. Simple things that normal people took for granted.

  Normal people. The thought made her stifle a bitter ugh that came out more like a growl. She'd thrown away the communicator the moment they'd returned, wanting to sever all connections, to disappear into isotion. And now? Now she had to be rescued by Kyle of all people. Kyle, who she'd bmed for everything. Kyle, who she'd spent twenty years hating because it was easier than facing the truth about Hazel.

  The apartment building came into view - her and Hazel's old pce. Twenty years and one week ago, they'd left for what should have been a simple rafting trip. Now Hazel was with Alex's group, had been with them for fifteen years, while Zoe... Zoe had endured five extra years of hell before being "rescued." And here she was, still paying rent on an apartment filled with two-decade-old memories she couldn't face and a body she couldn't stand to look at.

  She could smell her own week-old takeout containers before she even got the door open. Great. Another reminder of how pathetic she'd become. A seven-foot predator, afraid to go shopping, living on whatever she could get delivered. And now she couldn't even do that until she found a way to fix the choker.

  Once inside, Zoe ripped the musty bnket off, her cws shredding it in the process. The apartment reeked - rotting takeout, unwashed clothes, and now her own fear-sweat from the incident at Value Vilge. Seven days of wallowing in self-pity, and for what? To end up being rescued by Kyle?

  A growl built in her throat as she stalked to the bedroom, her transformed height making the once-familiar space feel like a dollhouse. The clothes she'd been wearing for days were saturated with her scent, making her sensitive nose burn. With a snarl, she began ripping them off, her cws shredding fabric that wasn't designed for her altered form anyway.

  "Useless!" She grabbed a mp, hurling it against the wall. Twenty years gone, and she'd come back to what? An apartment full of memories from a life that didn't exist anymore? The mp's crash felt good. Too good.

  Her cws raked through the closet next, shredding clothes that would never fit again. Each rip of fabric punctuated by words she'd been holding back for days.

  "Stupid - " rip "- worthless - " crash "- monster!"

  The mirror caught her reflection - seven feet of vulpine predator throwing a tantrum like a child. It only fueled her rage. She'd raised her cws to shatter it when a knock at the door froze her in pce.

  "Zoe?" Rose's voice, followed by another knock. "We know about the choker. I saw you on the security feed."

  Then Hazel's voice, barely above a whisper but crystal clear to Zoe's enhanced hearing: "I was monitoring when the alert came in. Saw you go into that changing room. Been watching you all week, making sure you were safe..." A pause. "Please let us help."

  Zoe stood there, half-dressed among the destruction she'd created, her sensitive ears picking up Hazel's slightly elevated heartbeat through the door. Even after twenty years, that sound still cut through everything else.

  "Go away!" Zoe snarled, her voice catching between human anguish and bestial growl. "I don't need your pity. I don't need your help. I don't need..." Her cws dug into the doorframe, leaving deep gouges in the wood. "I don't need you watching over me like I'm some kind of... some kind of pet project!"

  Tears matted the fur around her eyes, but her voice only grew harder. "You've got your perfect little setup with Alex's team, Hazel. Your perfect little life. While I was..." The words caught in her throat, memories of those five extra years threatening to overwhelm her. "Just go. Please." The st word came out as a whimper she hated herself for making.

  "I saw what you've been doing to yourself," Hazel's voice came through softly. "Seven days alone in here. Not eating properly. Not..."

  "So what?" Zoe snapped back, another growl rising. "You lost the right to care about my eating habits twenty years ago. Both of you just... just leave me alone!" Her cws scraped another line down the doorframe. "I'm not one of your cases to fix. I'm not..." Her voice broke. "I'm not even human anymore."

  "None of us are truly human any longer," Hazel's voice came soft but firm through the door. "Even if we are, we're not. It's something all of us have to face. One way or another." There was a gentle thump against the door - Hazel's hand or forehead resting against it. "All we have is each other."

  Zoe's cws dug deeper into the doorframe, her transformed body trembling. The scent of her own tears mingled with the lingering odors of takeout and unwashed clothes.

  "I still care for you," Hazel continued, her voice barely a whisper but crystal clear to Zoe's enhanced hearing, "even if we can't be together. Let me care for you. We shouldn't let this end this way."

  A low growl rumbled in Zoe's chest, but it held more pain than anger now. Twenty years of hatred and bme, five years of torture and transformation, and here was Hazel, still trying to breach her walls. Still caring despite everything.

  "You don't understand," Zoe managed through clenched teeth. "You can't possibly..." Her voice caught as she looked down at her cwed hands, at what she'd become. "You didn't see what they made me into. What I had to do to survive."

  "I did see what happened," Hazel's voice cracked with emotion. "I regretted every moment. We worked tirelessly to rescue you and we always will." Another soft thump against the door. "You're not a project, you're my friend and a love of my life. All of you are."

  Zoe slid down against her side of the door, her transformed body making the movement awkward in the confined space. Her cws left long scratches in the wood as she descended. The tears were flowing freely now, matting her fur.

  "You saw?" The words came out as a choked whisper. Twenty years of bme began to crack. "You saw what they... what I..." She pressed her forehead against the door, her enhanced senses picking up Hazel's scent through the wood. After all this time, it still felt like home.

  "How can you even look at me?" Zoe's voice broke. "I'm seven feet of... of this. I can smell your fear. Your heartbeat... it's elevated. I frighten you." The st words came out bitter, self-loathing.

  "I'm frightened for you, not frightened of you," Hazel said softly. Her hand scraped down the door - a mirror to Zoe's cws on the other side. "I've spent years being frightened for you."

  "We can fix your device," Rose added, her practical tone offering a lifeline through the emotional turbulence. "At least let us do that much. You shouldn't have to hide in here because of a damaged choker."

  "And..." Hazel paused, her heartbeat picking up slightly - Zoe could hear every flutter. "You don't have to stay here alone. We have space. Proper space, designed for... for all of us. Whatever we've become. No need to hide or pretend."

  Zoe's ears fttened against her head, another sob-growl escaping her throat. The apartment suddenly felt impossibly small, suffocating with its week of accumuted misery and decades of memories.

  "I can't," she managed, but her cws had stopped scoring the doorframe. "I don't know how to... how to be around anyone anymore. I'm not..." She looked down at her transformed hands. "I'm not good at being around people now."

  After what felt like an eternity of silence, Zoe's cws finally scraped against the lock. The door opened a crack, then wider, revealing her full transformed height in the dim apartment light.

  Hazel didn't hesitate - didn't show a moment's fear or revulsion. She rushed forward, wrapping her arms around Zoe's fur-covered torso, her tears soaking into the matted fur. For a moment, Zoe stood rigid, cwed hands hovering uncertainly, before slowly, carefully returning the embrace.

  Rose wandered into the destruction zone of the bedroom, letting out a low whistle as she surveyed the cw marks and shredded clothing. "You know," she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully, "most people just hire an interior decorator, but I have to admit - the savage chic look has potential." She gestured at the gouges in the walls. "Very modern art meets primal fury. Though maybe we could add some trophies to really sell the aesthetic." She grinned up at Zoe. "I'm thinking mounted Biomancer robes? I know where we could get at least three."

  Zoe let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a ugh, her arms still carefully wrapped around Hazel. "You're insane," she managed, but there was a hint of her old self in the words.

  "Sanity's overrated," Rose shrugged, picking up a shred of what might have once been a shirt. "Just ask any of us. Now, about that choker..."

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The oxygen mask felt stifling, but Kyle forced himself to take slow, measured breaths. Keep it steady. Keep it normal. The paramedic's fingers on his wrist felt like ice against his skin as she took his pulse.

  "Blood pressure's a bit elevated," she noted, frowning slightly at her readings. "And you're running pretty hot. Were you close to the vehicle when it started smoking?"

  Kyle shook his head, focusing on reguting his core temperature. Down. Keep it down. The st thing he needed was to melt through the ambunce's bench seat. "Just... helping with evacuation," he managed through the mask, trying to sound appropriately shaken. His mind kept drifting to Zoe's escape - at least something good had come from this mess.

  Through the open ambunce doors, he could see his van still smoldering despite the firefighters' best efforts. The acrid smell of burning lithium batteries cut through even the pure oxygen they were giving him. At least it gave him an excuse for his elevated vitals - anyone would be stressed watching their work vehicle burn down.

  The paramedic was looking at her thermometer with growing concern. "Sir, you're showing a temperature of 101.3... this could be from smoke inhation. We might need to transport you-"

  "No," Kyle cut her off, perhaps too quickly. "I mean... I always run hot. Family thing. Doctor knows about it." The lies came easier now, after years of practice. Just another Amazon driver having a bad day. Nothing to see here. He couldn't afford a hospital visit - too many tests, too many questions about why his body temperature fluctuated so wildly.

  The paramedic frowned at her readings again, but Kyle kept his breathing steady through the oxygen mask. Seven days of carefully maintained isotion threatened to crack as his mind wandered. First Nathan on that stolen motorcycle, forcing Kyle to break his silence on the communicator. Now Zoe - seeing her transformed, terrified, hiding in that changing room. The universe seemed determined to drag him back into their orbit.

  "Sir? Can you follow my finger?" The paramedic's penlight felt harsh in his eyes. He complied, all while maintaining the delicate bance of his core temperature. One spike of emotion, one slip in control, and he'd have more problems than a suspicious EMT.

  They were better off without him. His interference had only ever made things worse. Hazel and Zoe's retionship, Nathan's descent into recklessness, all of it could be traced back to his mistakes, his misguided attempts to help. And yet here he was again, burning his cover story just because he couldn't ignore someone in trouble.

  "I really think we should transport you," the paramedic was saying. "These battery fires are nasty - the fumes alone-"

  "I'm fine," Kyle insisted, keeping his voice calm despite the growing pressure in his chest. Not from smoke inhation, but from the effort of suppressing his abilities. "Really. Just need to call my supervisor, file the incident report."

  Through the ambunce doors, he could see the fire marshal approaching. More questions coming. More chances to slip up. But he'd handle it, just like he handled everything else - alone. It was better that way. Safer.

  The fire marshal's questions were technical, focused. Each answer required careful consideration - enough detail to be credible, vague enough to avoid scrutiny. "Just started smoking from underneath," he expined for what felt like the hundredth time. "No warning lights, no unusual sounds beforehand."

  The police officer's report was simirly routine, though Kyle caught him eyeing the still-smoldering van with suspicion. Electric vehicle fires were becoming more common, but still warranted investigation. Kyle kept his responses consistent, measured, even as maintaining his temperature control became increasingly exhausting.

  "Kyle!" The familiar voice cut through his carefully maintained composure. His supervisor Mark was hurrying across the parking lot, Shannon from HR right behind him, both of their faces etched with concern. They must have left the birthday preparations for Mike when they heard. The thought made his chest tighten - seven days of pushing everyone away, and here they were anyway.

  "God, are you okay?" Shannon reached the ambunce first, her earlier attempts to check on him forgotten in the face of actual crisis. "We came as soon as we heard. The whole team's worried sick."

  "Look," Mark said, running a hand through his hair, "this is a lot to deal with. Why don't you take the rest of the week? Paid, of course. Get yourself checked out properly, rest up." He shared a gnce with Shannon, who nodded encouragingly. "The routes can be covered. Your health is more important."

  Kyle started to protest, but Shannon cut him off. "You've been... different this past week, Kyle. We've all noticed. Maybe this is a sign you need some time." Her voice softened. "Whatever's going on, you don't have to push through it alone."

  The irony of their concern wasn't lost on him. They thought this incident was the cause of his behavior, not just another symptom. A week off would mean a week without his carefully constructed routine, a week where maintaining control would be even harder. But refusing might draw even more attention.

  "I..." Kyle began, then stopped as he felt his temperature starting to rise with his anxiety. He took a careful breath through the oxygen mask. "Maybe you're right. A few days might help."

  It was easier to agree than to expin why structure and routine were the only things keeping him functional. Easier than admitting that after seeing Zoe today, after being pulled back into their world twice in one week, he wasn't sure how much longer he could maintain this facade anyway.

  The paramedic's tone shifted from concern to subtle frustration as she reviewed Kyle's vitals. "Mr. Hayes, your body temperature is significantly elevated, and we're detecting irregurities in your baseline readings that concern us. Given the potential exposure to lithium battery fire toxins, we strongly recommend hospital transport for a full evaluation."

  Kyle kept his breathing measured, his response carefully neutral. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine."

  "Sir," she pressed, her clipboard showing multiple highlighted metrics, "these readings are outside our standard parameters. We typically recommend full screening after this type of chemical exposure, especially with your current temperature." She gestured to the digital thermometer that seemed to be struggling to accurately read his heat signature.

  "I'll follow up with my primary care physician," Kyle interrupted, his voice maintaining a professional edge that brooked no further argument.

  The paramedic's lips tightened. She pulled out a medical refusal waiver, her pen hovering pointedly over the document. "You understand that by signing this, you're refusing recommended medical treatment against professional medical advice?"

  "I understand," Kyle confirmed, taking the pen.

  His signature was steady, betraying none of the internal tension - the knowledge that a full medical screening would reveal far more than just smoke-reted anomalies.

  Mark approached as Kyle finished signing the waiver, his demeanor professional yet compassionate. "I'll drive you to the warehouse to collect your car," he offered, positioning it not as a suggestion but a practical solution. "Your van's obviously out of commission, and I want to ensure you get home safely."

  Kyle recognized the gesture for what it was - a carefully constructed opportunity to check on an employee while maintaining appropriate professional boundaries. The timing was strategic; the brief drive would allow Mark to assess Kyle's condition without making him feel overly scrutinized.

  "Thank you," Kyle responded, his voice neutral but accepting. The oxygen mask was gone, but the lingering chemical smell of the battery fire clung to his uniform.

  As they walked to Mark's sedan, Kyle maintained his careful temperature control. The st thing he needed was to inadvertently heat the vehicle's interior or trigger any additional concern from his supervisor.

  The drive to the warehouse was steeped in uncomfortable silence. Mark's hands gripped the steering wheel, occasionally gncing at Kyle in the passenger seat. Every time he seemed about to speak, he would hesitate, then return his focus to the road.

  Shannon shifted in the backseat, her professional demeanor struggling with the weight of unasked questions. Her HR training had prepared her for difficult conversations, but Kyle's complete emotional shutdown was challenging even her extensive experience.

  Kyle remained perfectly still, his body a study in controlled stillness. No fidgeting, no nervous movements - just absolute restraint. The only sound was the low hum of the car's engine and the occasional soft rustle of Shannon's notebook as she made brief, discreet notes.

  As they approached the warehouse, Mark cleared his throat - a sound that seemed unnaturally loud in the tense vehicle. "Do you need..." he started, then stopped, leaving the sentence unfinished.

  Kyle simply looked at him, waiting.

  As they pulled into the warehouse parking lot, Kyle broke the silence. "I'd like to get back to work as soon as possible," he said, his voice steady and direct. "It's important to get back in the saddle."

  Mark looked surprised by Kyle's proactive statement. The unexpected initiative seemed to catch both Mark and Shannon off guard.

  "Are you sure?" Mark asked, turning slightly in his seat. "The medical team was pretty insistent about you taking time to recover."

  Kyle's response was immediate and resolute. "Sitting at home won't do me any good. I prefer to keep working."

  Shannon shifted in the backseat, her professional demeanor carefully masking what appeared to be a mix of concern and professional assessment.

  Mark shook his head, surprising Kyle. "One week off, minimum," he said firmly. "And I mean it. Amazon's regutions can be brutal, but I'm not going to let you burn yourself out."

  Shannon leaned forward, nodding in agreement. "Mark's right," she added professionally. "After an incident like this, you need proper time to recover. A week will give us time to process the vehicle incident report and ensure you're fully ready to return."

  Kyle started to protest, but Mark raised a hand. "This isn't negotiable. Your safety comes first. We'll fully cover your hours, and your route will be redistributed." His tone left no room for argument - a careful bance of managerial authority and genuine concern.

  The message was clear: Kyle would be taking time off, whether he liked it or not. Kyle recognized that Mark was leveraging his position to provide protection beyond the standard corporate protocols, demonstrating a leadership approach that prioritized employee well-being.

  Kyle drove home, the ndscape passing in a blur of familiar streets. The mandated week off hung in the air, an unexpected disruption to the routine he'd so carefully constructed. Each turn was automatic, his muscle memory guiding him while his mind repyed the morning's events - Zoe's rescue, the fire, the uncomfortable conversation with his supervisor.

  The studio apartment waited, a testament to his deliberate minimalism. As he parked and walked inside, the silence pressed against him.

  "Now what?"

  The words fell ft in the empty space. A week of enforced time away from work, from his carefully maintained distance. A week of potential connection, of memories threatening to breach the walls he'd built.

  The communicator in his pocket felt heavier than usual, a constant reminder of the connections he was trying to avoid, yet couldn't quite sever.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~End of another chapter!

  Don’t forget to check out my Patreon for future chapters!

  Also,

  Here’s a perma Invite to my Discord:

  https://discord.gg/NYjPU3auVy

  Join Me and some other people to talk shop, discuss artwork, stories, chatter, or just share fun videos or memes!

  Also, feel free to PM me if you have any questions or wanna comment.

  TTFN Everyone.