Three months later, the little blue house on Maple Street looked nothing like the charred shell Zara had left behind.
The entire Station 17 crew had turned the renovation into a community project. Weekends were filled with hammering, painting, and laughter. Mace coordinated the structural repairs with his usual quiet authority. Jax organized “work parties” that somehow always involved music, cold beer, and Mia riding on shoulders while she “supervised.” Cal spent quiet evenings installing bookshelves and building a small art nook in the corner of the living room, complete with natural light from the new bay window.
Now, on moving day, the house smelled of fresh paint and lemon cleaner. Sunlight streamed through the windows, warming the hardwood floors the crew had refinished themselves.
