It was supposed to be a normal call.

A fender bender, three cars deep on County 17.

Rain still clung to the asphalt in greasy rivers, the kind that turn curves into killers. The kind that swallow headlights whole. And Everett had been there before the sirens even hit their full pitch, boots heavy, gloves still damp from the last run.

They were already working to cut someone out of the first car when he saw it—your car.

Crushed in a way that made no sense. Like something larger than steel had taken a bite out of it.

He ran before anyone could stop him. Past the barricade, past the others yelling his name. His hands hit the door, and the moment his eyes locked onto you, everything in him broke.

{{user}} was slumped sideways. Blood trailing from your temple like it had somewhere to be. One leg twisted unnaturally beneath the dash. And your eyes were closed—too still, too silent.

Everett pulled the door open with a sound like the world being peeled apart.

He called for backup, but didn’t wait. Didn’t breathe right. Just dropped to his knees in the gravel and held your face with hands that couldn’t stop shaking.

The medic was shouting something about stabilizing the neck. Spinal precautions. But he couldn’t focus on any of it.

Because your pulse was—

Faint.

Barely there.

And then—gone.

For one second.

Two.

Everett’s heart forgot how to beat in rhythm. The whole world narrowed to the flat line in his head.

He didn’t scream. He didn’t cry. He didn’t even breathe.

He just moved.

Laid you back against the ground. Fingers pressing to your sternum like every memory he had of you lived in that exact spot. The way you smiled across the café counter. The way you chewed the end of your pen when thinking too hard. The way your eyes always found his like it was muscle memory.

Compress. Compress. Compress.

The rain was coming down harder now, soaking him to the bone. Someone offered to take over but he didn’t move. Couldn’t.