Jack sat on the edge of his bed, staring out at the dimming sky. Dinner with Mike—a small step forward in this unfamiliar life. So many questions still swirled in his mind. How does one live another person's life?
His body had fully recovered after a long night's rest. When he'd woken at noon, Sophie was there beside him, dark circles under her eyes. She hadn't slept. Hadn't left. Just… waited. Worried.
It unsettled him. The way everyone treated him like fragile glass. The cautious glances. The unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. He needed control. Answers. Purpose. Right now, he was adrift.
But yesterday's fire… it had ignited something inside him. Maybe continuing the predecessor's work was the natural path. But did he truly want this?
Jack had been a knight. A hero. He'd fought monsters, slain demons, stood firm on countless battlefields drenched in blood and screams. The cries for help, the overwhelming relief when he arrived—those memories from his old world overlapped perfectly with the faces of the boy and his mother from yesterday.
Different worlds. Same expressions of gratitude. Same desperate hope.
Perhaps, in the end, it wasn't so different after all.
He could live this life—pick up where the predecessor left off. Maybe that was the path forward. But it would help if he actually knew who the old Jack was. What kind of man he'd been. What he'd wanted.
Did he want the same things? A life spent fighting fires, saving lives in this strange new world?
If he was going to walk that path, he needed to understand it. Not just what the previous Jack had done, but what being a firefighter truly meant—what it demanded, what it cost.
He'd been trained to be a hero once before, too—molded by the Church, shaped by prophecy, steeled by war. But back then, he hadn't had a choice. It was purpose handed down, not discovered.
He thought of Althusia. Their last conversation before the end. He had said the same thing.
May you finally be true to yourself—and in doing so, truly embody the life of a hero.
Maybe this was that moment.
Jack stood, exhaling slowly. The weight in his chest didn't vanish, but it shifted—less like chains, more like armor.
He would meet Mike. One step forward. No more drifting.
———
"Are you sure you don't want to come along?" Mike asked, leaning against the door frame of Jack's apartment, one hand still on the knob.
Sophie stood in the hallway, arms loosely crossed over her chest. Her hoodie was wrinkled, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, and the shadows beneath her eyes looked even darker in the hallway light. She gave a faint, sheepish smile. "Nah. I could really use some sleep."
"She didn't sleep at all last night," Jack said quietly, glancing at her. "She just… stayed. Watched over me."
Mike gave Sophie a playful look. "Well, someone's got to make sure he doesn't wander off into traffic."
Sophie chuckled weakly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Mike nodded at her. "Seriously though—you need that beauty sleep. You're starting to look like me."
"God forbid," Sophie said with a smirk.
"You two go have fun," she added, stepping forward and brushing invisible dust from Jack's shoulder. Her voice softened. "Mike, keep an eye on him, okay?"
Mike offered a casual salute. "Yes, ma'am. Nothing will happen on my watch."
Just as Jack turned to follow him, Sophie reached out and gently took his hands. He froze. She leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his cheek.
Jack barely blinked.
Mike awkwardly cleared his throat behind them.
"Oh—before you go," Sophie said, turning quickly to Mike. "Give me your number. Jack still doesn't have his phone."
Mike paused, blinking. "Wait, what? I thought Cap passed along all his stuff?"
Sophie hesitated, biting her bottom lip. "Ellen's… keeping it. She thought he wasn't ready yet."
Mike gave an exaggerated sigh and smacked a hand to his forehead. "So that's why you never answered our texts. We all figured you were… I don't know. Out of commission."
Jack frowned. "I have a phone?"
Mike looked at him, mouth opening, then closing again. "Yes, Jack. You had one. Everyone does. It's 2025."
"He's still… adjusting," Sophie said quickly. "Some things slip through the cracks. Just—watch out for him, okay?"
Mike studied Jack for a moment. Jack stood stiffly, his eyes alert but distant, like he was trying to absorb a language he hadn't quite mastered yet.
Mike let out a breath, ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Don't worry. He's in good hands."
He gave Sophie a reassuring nod, then motioned to Jack. "Come on, man. Let's get you back out into the world."
———
"So where are we going?" Jack finally asked, breaking the silence.
They walked side by side along the cracked sidewalk, their footsteps echoing faintly in the stillness of the evening. The sky overhead had begun its slow descent into twilight, a wash of pale gold and indigo stretching over the rooftops. The last rays of sunlight glinted off the windows of parked cars and the occasional passing bus, casting long shadows that crawled across the pavement.
"Our usual place," Mike said, glancing at Jack from the corner of his eye. "The diner on 3rd Street."
His tone was casual, but his eyes lingered on Jack, gauging his reaction—testing for recognition. Jack gave none.
"Lead the way," Jack said simply, nodding once.
A soft breeze rolled down the street, carrying with it the faint scent of cooking oil and grilled onions from some unseen kitchen. The streetlamps flickered to life one by one, casting warm amber halos on the cracked asphalt. A couple strolled past them with takeaway coffee cups in hand. Somewhere across the road, a dog barked behind a fence, and a child's laughter rang out from an apartment window above.
Jack kept his gaze forward, absorbing it all like it was new—because, in a way, it was.
Cars rolled lazily by, headlights glowing like fireflies in the dusk. The city hadn't fully quieted yet; its pulse was slower now, more rhythmic. The clatter of silverware on outdoor patio tables, the distant wail of a siren far downtown, the low thrum of a bassline spilling from a passing car—it all blended into a kind of urban symphony. Familiar to Mike. Foreign to Jack.
Jack drew in a slow breath. The air was cooler now, touched by the edge of coming night, but still clinging to the warmth of the day. It carried hints of exhaust, concrete, and the lingering aroma of late dinners being prepared.
He glanced sideways at Mike. "Is the food any good?"
Mike smirked. "It's greasy, the coffee's average, and the service is hit or miss—but it's ours."
Jack didn't know what that meant. But something about the way Mike said it made it feel important.
So he said nothing, and kept walking.
As they reached the end of the block, the familiar glow of neon lights came into view—a small sign that read Patty's Grill buzzed faintly above the door. The diner sat tucked between a darkened laundromat and a shuttered flower shop, its wide glass windows glowing with warm yellow light that spilled onto the sidewalk like a beacon against the encroaching dusk.
Jack paused just outside, eyes scanning the place. It looked like something out of another era—chrome-trimmed, red leather booths, the smell of frying oil and grilled onions drifting out every time the door swung open. Comforting, somehow. Grounded in its simplicity.
Mike held the door open. "After you."
Inside, the diner buzzed with a quiet, easy rhythm. A couple of off-duty cops lounged at the counter, chatting with the waitress as she topped off their coffee. A family of four was nestled in a corner booth, the kids absorbed in coloring sheets while the parents shared a plate of fries. The low murmur of conversation blended with the faint hiss of the kitchen and the occasional sizzle of something hot hitting the grill.
Mike led them to a booth near the back, slipping in with practiced ease. Jack slid into the seat across from him, hands resting on the table as his eyes roamed the space.
Fluorescent lights reflected off the checkered tile floor. The linoleum beneath his boots was worn down in places, the kind of wear that only came from years of footsteps and spilled coffee. A jukebox in the corner played a soft, nostalgic tune he couldn't place—something slow, threaded with the distant sound of a saxophone.
It reminded him of the taverns of his past—places steeped in firelight, heavy with the scent of mead, damp stone, and the laughter of mercenaries. This place had none of that. No wooden beams, no iron chandeliers, no hearth crackling with flame. Just laminated menus, chrome-edged counters, and the comforting aroma of coffee and fried potatoes.
And yet… the feeling was the same.
A refuge. A place to pause. To exist without expectation.
"This used to be our post-shift spot," Mike said, grabbing a menu out of habit but not opening it. "Late nights, early mornings, after emergency runs. We've probably eaten everything on the menu at some point."
Jack nodded, glancing around again. "Feels… familiar," he said quietly.
Mike gave a crooked smile. "You always got the Denver omelet. Didn't matter if it was two in the morning."
A waitress approached, pad in hand, beaming brightly as she saw them.
"Jack! Goodness, it's great to see you!"
Jack blinked. The warmth in her voice caught him off guard.
"Easy, Julie," Mike said, winking. "You'll scare him off."
Julie's smile faltered for half a second before softening. "Right. Of course." She gave Jack a gentle nod. "It's just good to have you back, hon."
"You know us," Mike added, his tone light. "Can't stay away." He glanced at Jack, then back at her. "We'll take the usual."
Julie clicked her pen. "Two black coffees, one Denver omelet, one bacon cheeseburger, extra pickles. Coming right up."
Jack watched her disappear into the kitchen, then turned to Mike. "She knew me."
Mike nodded. "She should. You've been coming here for years."
There was a pause.
Jack looked down at the tabletop, tracing a faint scratch in the laminate with his thumb.
"Feels strange. Like I'm walking through someone else's memories."
Mike leaned back in the booth, studying him. "They're your memories, Jack. Even if they don't feel like it yet."
Jack shifted in his seat, fingers brushing the edge of his coffee cup. Thoughts churned in his mind, loud and restless beneath the calm veneer he tried to wear. It had been that way since they left the apartment—questions, doubts, memories that didn't feel like his own. But neither he nor Mike had said much. Maybe Mike was being considerate. Giving him space. Letting him breathe.
Then, the quiet was broken.
Mike's phone buzzed against the table—once, twice, then continuously, the vibrations sharp against the diner's hum. He glanced at it, clearly tempted to ignore it, but the insistent rhythm made that impossible.
He clicked his tongue and finally picked it up. "Ugh, it's Sophie," he muttered, then gave a short laugh. "She's warning me not to be too rough on you. Heh. Man, Sophie's such a sweet girl. I'm getting jealous—"
His voice faltered.
Brows knit, Mike stared at the screen.
"…seizure and a brain bleed?"
The humor drained from his face. His gaze snapped to Jack, sharp and searching.
Jack's stomach twisted. Here it comes. The shift. The pity. The worried looks. Like he was porcelain and already cracked.
"I'm fine now," Jack said, flatly. Resolute.
Mike didn't respond right away. He locked his phone and let it fall onto the table with a dull clack. Then he slumped back into the booth, exhaling slowly as if the weight of the message had landed squarely on his shoulders.
"Dude," Mike muttered, rubbing his face with both hands. "This is… I just wish we were there for you, man."
Jack frowned. "Why?"
Mike blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean, why? We're brothers. The whole firehouse is. We always have each other's backs. And this… we couldn't. Because…"
He trailed off, words tangling in his mouth. Something flickered behind his eyes—guilt, maybe. Hesitation.
Jack's patience was thinning. His arms crossed. "Because what? Just say it."
Mike glanced away for a beat, jaw tight. Then, with a frustrated grunt, he threw his hands up. "Argh, fuck it."
He leaned forward, elbows on the table.
"It's your mom, Jack. Ellen. She didn't want any of us near you. Took you back to Clearfield and… cut everyone off. No visits. No calls. She shut the whole station out."
The words hit like a low thud in Jack's chest.
Mike ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "We didn't even know where you were at first. And when we finally found out, she made it clear we weren't welcome."
Jack stared at the table, thoughts buzzing like hornets. So that was why. The distance. The silence. The shiftiness. He had noticed it before—the strange looks, the half-answers—but he'd been too distracted, tangled in more pressing questions. Questions about who he was. About what he had become.
But now it made sense. The way people dodged when he asked about the accident. About the man he used to be.
"She thought she was protecting you," Mike said softly. "But it felt like… like losing a limb."
Jack's jaw tightened. He didn't respond—not yet. But something stirred in him. Old, sharp. Familiar.
He remembered another life. Another betrayal.
When the Cardinal of the Church had once withheld critical truths—about a failed exorcism that led to the deaths of a village. The Cardinal had meant well. He'd claimed it was for the good of the people. To shield them from panic. From pain. But the result had been far worse. Ignorance had bred tragedy. And Jack had seen firsthand what hiding the truth could cost.
He didn't need protecting. Not then. Not now.
The silence around him thickened. He looked up at Mike.
"I don't blame you," Jack said. "But I want the truth now. All of it."