“Unfortunately for you,” she says, her voice wobbling slightly, “I remember everything.”
I groan softly, dropping my forehead briefly against hers. “Of course you do.”
Her hand comes up, fingers brushing my cheek.
“You meant it,” she whispers.
I don’t hesitate.
“Every word.”
Her eyes close for a second.
Like she’s holding onto that.
Like it matters.
Sirens cut through the moment. I pull back just as the ambulance pulls up, reality crashing back in.
Paramedics rush over, asking questions, checking her, guiding her out of the car carefully.
I don’t let go.
Not fully.
My hand stays on her arm, her shoulder, wherever I can still touch her without getting in their way.
They ask her the same questions I did.
She answers all of them.
Steady. I follow when they move her to the ambulance, climbing in without being asked.
I’m not leaving.
Not now. Not after she almost—
No.
I am not finishing that thought. “I’m here,” she says simply.
I nod.
But something inside me doesn’t fully settle.
Because this—
This doesn’t feel random.
Her saying she felt like someone had been in her house.
The pendant.
Now this.
Brake failure. A slow, cold realization starts to take shape.
This wasn’t an accident.
