Then I see it.
Her van. It crashed into a tree, headlights still cutting through the rain at a crooked angle.
My heart dropped. She had to be here.
I moved faster, rounding the front of the vehicle, scanning for any sign?—
“Belle!”
Nothing.
No answer.
The dread rose, cold and sharp. I turned toward the tree line.
“Belle!”
This time— A voice answered.
“Raph!”
Relief hit so hard it nearly staggered me.
“I’m here!” she called again.
And then?—
Another voice. I was older and gentler.
“Pumpkin? Where’d you go?”
Her father.
I ran. Branches snapped underfoot as I pushed through the trees toward the sound. I broke through the last line of brush and saw him.
The older man was on the ground near the edge of the embankment, half in the mud, reaching weakly toward the drop like something was just out of his grasp.
My stomach dropped.
No.
No, no, no?—
Not again.
I close the distance in seconds, dropping to my knees beside him, gripping his shoulder firmly.
“Sir,” I said sharply. “You need to stay still.”
He startled, looking at me with confusion.
“That’s where it goes,” he insists, gesturing weakly toward the edge. “I just have to?—”
“No.” My voice was firm. “You are not going anywhere.”
His balance was wrong. The mud was shifting.
One wrong move and?—
