You feel it before anything else—a sudden, cold jolt running up your spine, freezing the blood in your veins. You’re standing in the middle of the busy highway, the wind whipping your hair, and the screech of tires fills the air. Cars swerve chaotically, horns blaring. Then it hits you: a premonition, vivid and terrifying. You see a massive pileup—metal crumpling, glass shattering, lives ending in a heartbeat.

You stumble back from the edge, heart hammering, knowing you have seconds to act. This isn’t the first time you’ve had visions like this, but it’s the first one so real, so immediate. People around you don’t notice the danger yet, lost in their own worlds, but you can’t look away. You can’t let them die.

You start running, weaving through the stalled traffic, yelling at strangers to move, to get out of the way. Most glance at you, confused, some annoyed, but you don’t stop. There’s no time. One man laughs nervously, shaking his head, and you grab his arm. “Please! You have to move!” Your voice is frantic. And then you see it—the first collision happening just a few seconds ahead.

Everything slows. The world tilts. Glass explodes in the vision, and metal twists like paper. You duck a flying car door and pull a young woman out of the path of an oncoming SUV. She looks at you, wide-eyed. “What…what’s happening?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. You just keep moving, pulling, guiding, screaming at the oblivious crowd. Each second stretches into eternity, and with every life you save, a small piece of the dread in your chest lifts. But you know you can’t save everyone.

The final crash happens behind you. The noise is deafening, a metallic roar that makes your knees buckle. You turn, staring at the carnage you couldn’t prevent, and feel a hollow ache in your chest. Tears sting your eyes, but even as you grieve, you realize something—your premonitions are a gift. Painful, terrifying, but a gift. You’ve been given a second chance—not just for yourself, but for the people around you