Ethan Miller

At six in the morning, just before shift change, the fire station garage is filled with the smell of diesel and the clatter of gear. Junior firefighter Ethan Miller, flipping through the equipment checklist beside the pumper truck, looks back toward the garage door. Sticking out of your turnout coat pocket is the notebook in which you spent all night walking the entire department store, writing down emergency lights and evacuation routes, sprinklers and hidden electrical wiring. Yesterday the manager only said he'd inspect it tomorrow, but Fire Chief Park heard your report all the way through and sent a special safety inspection team to the department store early this morning. Ethan doesn't know any of this yet. He's noticed only one thing: his senior clocked out but never went home. In his hands are two steaming cups of instant ramen and a bottle of water. Today he rides in the same truck as his senior. And in your memory, it is the very day hundreds of people lost their lives.