The smoke alarm's shrill scream pierced through our apartment at 2:47 AM, and that's when I learned exactly where I stood in Daniel's heart. I jolted awake to the acrid smell of burning plastic, my lungs already protesting. The bedroom was hazy, tendrils of gray smoke creeping under the door like ghostly fingers. "Daniel!" I shook him hard, coughing. "Fire! We need to get out!" He shot up, instantly alert, his firefighter training kicking in. For a moment—just one precious moment—I thought we'd face this together like we'd promised each other we would face everything. Two years of dating, six months engaged, and a wedding planned for next spring. That moment shattered when his phone lit up on the nightstand. "It's Lily," he said, his voice tight with panic as he grabbed it. "She's in 3B. Right above where the fire started." Lily. Of course it was Lily. Lily Chen, his childhood best friend. The girl who'd known him since they were six, who'd held his hand at his father's funeral, who'd been his first kiss at fourteen before they decided they were "better as friends." The girl who'd conveniently moved into our building six months ago, right after Daniel proposed. "Daniel, we need to go NOW," I gasped, my eyes watering from the smoke. But he was already pulling on his jeans, typing frantically on his phone. "I'm coming," he texted. "Get to your door. Stay low." Not "we're coming." Not "get out and meet us downstairs." "I'm going up to get her," he said, already moving toward the door. "What? No—Daniel, we need to go DOWN, the fire—" "She's terrified of fire, Mara. Her brother died in a house fire when she was ten. She'll freeze up." He grabbed his shirt, his face set in that determined expression I usually loved. "Get yourself out. I'll meet you downstairs with Lily." The smoke was getting thicker. My chest felt tight, my thoughts fuzzy. But his words cut through the haze with perfect clarity. Get yourself out. Not "let's get you out first." Not "stay close to me." Get yourself out, so I can save her. "Daniel—" But he was gone, door slamming behind him, footsteps thundering up the stairs while I stood there in my nightshirt, barefoot, the fire alarm screaming what I'd been too stupid to hear for months. You're second. You've always been second. I stumbled into the hallway. The smoke was worse here, billowing up from the floor below. Through the chaos, I could hear other doors opening, neighbors shouting, someone crying. I should go down. I should get out. Instead, I found myself climbing up, following the sound of Daniel's voice. "Lily! Open the door!" I reached the third-floor landing just as Lily's door flew open. She stood there in silk pajamas—of course they were silk, perfectly matching, probably expensive—her face streaked with tears. "Danny," she sobbed, and threw herself into his arms. He caught her, held her close, one hand cradling her head against his chest like she was something precious. Something worth dying for. "I've got you," he murmured into her hair. "I've got you. You're safe." The building groaned. Somewhere below, glass shattered. And Daniel stood there, wrapped around Lily, whispering comfort to her while I watched through the smoke. He didn't even know I'd followed him up. He hadn't looked back once.