It’s a chilly October morning, the kind where the air feels thin and sharp, and every breath seems to carry a faint smell of damp leaves and distant rain. Emilia tugs her coat tighter around herself as she steps out of her bedroom, shoulders hunched against a cold that feels bigger than just the weather. She had been looking forward to the half-term break ever since the first week of term started. Back then, it felt impossibly far away; now that it’s finally here, she’s clinging to it like a lifeline.

At the end of the last academic year, she’d been ecstatic to be asked to take over as Head of MFL while the current head went on maternity leave. She still remembers the way her heart had leapt when the headteacher called her into the office, the words, “We’d like you to step up” still echoing fresh in her mind. As a young teacher starting her third year in the role, it felt like a real achievement, a sign that all the planning, late nights, and term-time exhaustion were worth it.

In school, the new title had given her a quiet kind of pride. Staff greeted her differently. Students seemed to take her a little more seriously. She’d found herself staying late to check schemes of work or help a nervous NQT prep for an observation, and even though the workload grew heavier, she genuinely enjoyed the challenge. For those hours between the first bell and the last detention, she felt capable. Grounded. Useful.

At home, however, the same could not be said.

Emilia shared an apartment with her best friend Jane. They’d moved in together full of excitement and cheap IKEA furniture, imagining cosy evenings with wine and Netflix, cooking experiments gone wrong, and the easy comfort of having your favourite person just down the hall. For a while, it had been exactly that.

Then Jane started dating Callum.

Callum, the PE teacher. Callum, with the easy smile and the fitted joggers and the loud laugh that carried down corridors. While Jane was over the moon to have “bagged” Callum; her words, not Emilia’s; others looking on might have seen things differently. From the outside, the relationship didn’t look as golden as Jane thought. Callum was emotionally controlling in a way that was hard to pin down, easy to excuse. The kind of controlling hidden in “jokes” and “concern.” His behaviour often left Emilia feeling unwelcome in the apartment that she also paid rent for.

At first, she’d thought she imagined it. A comment here, a snipe there. A look that lasted a bit too long. But Jane was also slowly making the feeling more real. The little eyerolls when Emilia talked about work. The sighs when Emilia stayed in. The accusations of jealousy when Emilia tried to gently question something Callum had said.

Emilia felt unsafe, not in a dramatic, physical way, but in that quieter, gnawing way where you no longer wanted to relax in your own living room. She couldn’t speak to Jane about it. Every time she tried, Jane brushed it off. In Jane’s mind, Emilia was just jealous. After all, Emilia had been single for as long as Jane could remember and, as Jane liked to remind her, she really ought to “get a life.”

In fact, Jane was sure that Emilia was just too stuck up. Whenever Emilia raised even a hint of concern, Jane came back with the same lines: You’re overreacting, You’re too picky, You have no idea what a real relationship is like. The only relationship Jane could remember Emilia ever being in had ended after two months, and since then Emilia had stayed single. Emilia had tried to explain quietly, without fuss that she’d been cheated on, that it had hurt, that it had taken a long time to even think about trusting someone again. Jane had shrugged. Everyone gets cheated on. You move on. You’re just dramatic.

As far as Jane was concerned, either way Emilia just needed to mind her own business. There was nothing wrong, in Jane’s view, with your boyfriend choosing what you wear, messaging to check where you are, or keeping up with everything in your life. It was called love, she insisted; something Emilia didn’t understand. Those words had dug in somewhere deep, and they hadn’t really left.

Emilia had planned to visit her parents on Monday morning; just for the day. No big bags, no overnight plans. Just a few hours of normality, a brief return to the kind of love that didn’t come with conditions or criticism. She just hoped her car would get her there without drama. The thought of being stranded somewhere between home and theirs was almost as bad as the thought of going back to the apartment too soon.

Leaving earlier than she needed to, just to get away from the apartment, Emilia locked the door behind her ready to face the crisp morning. The air outside was cold enough to sting her cheeks, but at least it was clean cold, not weighed down by tension. She pulled her coat around her tighter and walked quickly across the car park to her slightly battered car.

The engine spluttered to life after a moment’s hesitation, which she chose to interpret as personality rather than a warning sign. She eased out onto the road, only to be swallowed almost immediately by rush-hour traffic. Although it was half term for her, the rest of the workforce still had to continue. Commuters flooded the roads, impatient indicators flashing, brake lights glowing red.

Not long into the journey, Emilia’s heater stopped working. One minute, it was reluctantly blowing out lukewarm air; the next, it silently gave up. She twisted the knob a couple of times, then thumped it lightly with the side of her fist, but nothing changed.

She could turn back and take the train. For a moment, she pictured herself doing exactly that, parking on the street, trudging back up the stairs, slipping past Callum’s smirk and Jane’s sleepy frown, dragging her small suitcase out of the cupboard and heading for the station. But she knew her dad would fix the problem when she got there, and more importantly, the train just made her feel less independent. Taking the train meant admitting defeat, and she’d had quite enough of feeling defeated lately.

So, she carried on driving.

With only a short time left in her journey, Emilia came to a stop at a Henly’s corner, famous for its traffic, today it didn’t disappoint.

Cars lined up behind and next to her, a restless, humming queue waiting for the light to change so they could get on with their journeys; people going to jobs, appointments, their own complicated lives.

Emilia’s car, however, decided this would be as far as it went.

It started with a faint smell; something hot and metallic. Before she had time to process it, smoke started coming through the vents. Thin at first, then thicker. Emilia could smell burning, a harsh acrid scent that clawed at her throat, but instead of doing something sensible, panic took over and she froze. Her hands stayed clamped on the steering wheel, her eyes wide as the smoke curled out in front of her like ghostly fingers. Next, the smoke started coming from the bonnet, rolling out in thicker waves that made the situation look far more dramatic than she was equipped to handle. Before she knew it, the light changed. Green glowed on the signal ahead.

Her car stayed exactly where it was.

A panicked, frozen Emilia was jolted back to reality when the horns of the vehicles behind her started screaming at her, one after another in a chain reaction of irritation. She blinked, heart racing, but she still couldn’t make her body move. She couldn’t decide if she should exit the car and risk stepping out into traffic or stay put and hope the smoke would stop on its own, or that she’d just magically disappear.

Her thoughts tangled into each other, useless, frantic. Just when she thought it couldn’t get worse, Emilia heard the siren.

It wasn’t the full blare of multiple vehicles, just a controlled, unmistakable police siren nearby. Looking up, she couldn’t see the car in her mirror through the haze, but she could hear it. The sound seemed to get closer, grounding and terrifying all at once.

From the corner of her eye, through the smoke now coming stronger and thicker from her car, a black BMW pulled up, lights flashing from the dashboard rather than mounted on top. Subtle, but impossible to miss.

Emilia, at this point, really wanted the earth to swallow her whole.

As the driver exited his car and approached, Emilia couldn’t yet see his face, but she could see the silhouette of a tall figure cutting through the morning air. He moved with purpose, not in a hurry, but not wasting time either. As he appeared more clearly through the smoke, she was fully ready to apologise, for the traffic, the chaos, the stupidity of still sitting in the car while it tried to smoke itself to death.

She could see the figure coming closer. In her head, she could already hear what he was probably going to say: that he was some very important officer, that he was rather annoyed she’d disrupted his morning, and that there would probably be a long lecture following about road safety and regular vehicle maintenance.

As he got to her car, she opened her mouth to say, “I’m very so…” but the words didn’t come out. They were stolen by the deep green eyes that looked straight at her.

For a second, she forgot about the smoke, the horns, everything.

His voice broke the trance she was in when it smoothly came through with, “Hey, are you okay? Well, aside from the smoke that you’re sitting in.”

Completely lost and a little enraptured, Emilia finally managed to respond with, “I’m sorry.”

His gentle voice replied, “Don’t worry about that. I’m Liam. What’s your name?”

She swallowed, forcing her brain to reconnect with her mouth. “I’m Emilia,” she replied.

Liam smiled, the expression softening his features. He opened her door, extended his hand to Emilia and said, “Nice to meet you, Emilia. Let’s get you out of here.”

His hand was warm and steady. She took it, stepping out of the car on slightly shaky legs. After helping her from the car, Liam proceeded to ask nearby motorists for assistance in moving her car to the nearby side road. People, now that they had a clear leader in the situation, seemed much less annoyed and much more willing to help.

Emilia watched him as he jogged back to her after they’d pushed the car to safety. His movements were efficient, controlled, and yet there was a softness in the way he glanced at her, like he was checking she hadn’t completely unravelled.

Offering her the front seat of his car, he drove the short distance to the side road where her wounded car awaited them, looking pathetic and slightly singed.

Liam could see she was flustered. He did well hiding his thoughts, but inside he felt them racing. He had surprised himself on his approach. Earlier, when he had stopped, he had been all rehearsed and ready to say, “Good morning, Detective Sergeant Knight, Hertfordshire Constabulary,” in the crisp professional tone he’d perfected over the years. He’d planned to be detached, calm, official.

But instead, when he was met by the breathtaking view of the young woman in the car; wide hazel eyes, panic and vulnerability written across her face; he could only say his first name.

What was wrong with him? Was this even professional? He really should now be walking away, just like he’d done every other time he’d performed his duty as a good citizen in the past, once he’d ensured everyone was safe and the situation was under control. Usually, he’d file it away in his mind as done and move on to the next task.

But he just couldn’t bring himself to walk away.

Instead, he heard himself say, “You look flustered, just take a few deep breaths.” His own voice sounded strange to his ears; softer than usual, almost gentle. Followed by, “I’m sorry, I have to leave you. Give me your phone. I’ll give you my number and please send me an SMS once your car has been picked up and you’ve reached your destination. It would really make me stop worrying.”

He knew it was partly BS. He would have worried a little, sure, but not enough to break protocol like this. Still, how else could he get her number without sounding completely unprofessional or, worse, inappropriate?

Emilia handed over her phone, still a little dazed. To ensure numbers were exchanged, Liam asked her to call his phone just to check he’d typed his number correctly. As if he’d typed it incorrectly; he’d had the same phone number since university, and his fingers had practically memorised it years ago.

With numbers safely exchanged, Liam parted with Emilia, offering her one last reassuring smile before heading back to his car. The smile plastered on his face for the rest of his commute, for the first time in years, was genuine and unforced. It sat there, stretching the corners of his mouth, even when he tried to school his features back into neutrality.

He only hoped he hadn’t misread her look for something more.