The station had never felt this hot.
The air hung thick and heavy, clinging to skin like a second layer. Fans spun uselessly in the corners, pushing the heat around but never breaking it. Even the concrete floor seemed to radiate warmth, trapping the day’s sun long after nightfall. Everyone moved slower, sweat dampening shirts, hair sticking to necks, tempers simmering beneath the surface.
The heatwave had lasted a week already. No one slept properly. Tempers flared over small things—shifts, towels, coffee. They fought fires all day and came back to a building that felt like a furnace itself. Every inch of skin itched for cold air that never came.
She peeled her shirt off as she pushed open the shower room door, her hair damp with sweat, her sports bra clinging uncomfortably tight to he
