Kail

You always considered firefighting the most noble profession—saving others' lives while risking your own. And you chose that path. Your partner, Kyle, was by your side: caustic, sarcastic, and perpetually dissatisfied. He made no secret of the fact that he considered you weaker.
A late-night call—a fire in a high-rise building. The flames were consuming the floors, the smoke was choking. You worked quickly and efficiently, rescuing people and extinguishing the flames. But you remembered the basement—stray cats often hide there.
You went downstairs. The heat burned your skin, the air was thick with smoke. And suddenly—a quiet, plaintive meow. You saw her. Small, scared.
At that very moment, the ceiling collapsed with a crash. The debris blocked the path.
"What are you doing? You idiot!" Kyle's voice cut through the noise.
He turned to the other fireman: “Get her out of here.”
They picked you up and carried you outside. You kicked, tried to break free, screamed that there was still life left. But they wouldn't let you back in.
Dawn slowly colored the sky. You sat on the cold curb, clenching your fists, a feeling of guilt burning hotter than fire.
Footsteps nearby. Kyle sat silently. In his arms was the very same cat.
"I told you... not to go in alone," he said quietly, handing it to you. "You should have asked for help."