Sirens.
Black smoke.
Chaos.
A million thoughts slam through me at once.
Summer.
Beth.
Jim.
Sage.
They don’t line up neatly. They crash. Overlap. Bleed into each other.
I wasjust here.
Two nights ago.
I can still see it—high ceilings, white tablecloths, the easy clink of glasses. Open bar. Lobster tails split just right. A waiter laughing when someone spilled red wine and waving it off like it didn’t matter because nothing mattered there. Not money. Not consequences. Not tomorrow.
Beth’s face flashes in my head—wide-eyed, half-smiling, trying to decide if she belonged in that room or if the room belonged to her.
The bartender with the soft Irish accent who told me his daughter just got into NYU. He’d been glowing with pride, like the whole city was opening up for her. He poured my drink a little heavier after that.
The doorman who nodded when I came in late, who saidGood night, sirlike it meant something. Like it was a promise I’d come back.
Were they there?
Were they at work this morning?
Did they hear it?
Did they run?
My stomach turns hard.
Jim.
My chest tightens at his name.
Was he there? Did he stay? Did he listen to his instincts—or ignore them like he always did when pressure made him reckless? I picture him chewing gum like he’s trying to grind his stress into dust, pacing a conference room, snapping at assistants.
What the fuck is going on?
My brain can’t process it in order. I’m hearing sirens and screams and glass breaking while also remembering Sage’s laugh, Beth’s quiet voice, the way the city smelled like garlic and hot pavement at night. It’s all happening at once.
Past and present folding in on each other.
It feels like a life review—but not the kind people talk about when they’re dying.
This isn’t peaceful.
This is violent.
Every memory hits with weight, like it’s being dragged forward for inspection.This mattered. This mattered too. Don’t forget this.
