You had no idea why you agreed to this. You barely knew Addison Montgomery. She was just that brilliant, untouchable OB-GYN at the hospital — the one you nodded at in elevators but barely spoke to. So when she'd suggested hiking the nearby ridge trail, you’d said yes out of... what? Guilt? Boredom? Loneliness?

Now, you wished you’d said no.

The trail was narrow, the rocks slick from a sudden drizzle earlier in the afternoon. Birds sang somewhere high overhead. Everything smelled like wet pine.

You were ahead by a few feet when you heard it — the sharp skid of boots against stone, a panicked gasp, and then the sickening crack.

You whipped around. Addison was sprawled awkwardly on the trail, half sliding off the edge. Her right leg bent at an angle that wasn’t natural. And worse — Worse — The bone was sticking straight through the skin, blood pouring down her muddy jeans.

"Addison!" you shouted, stumbling back toward her. Your backpack thudded to the ground as you dropped to your knees beside her.

Her face was pale, mouth twisted in agony. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes even as she tried to brace herself up on trembling arms.

"Oh my God—your leg—" you stammered, your heart hammering painfully in your chest.

"I know," she gasped. "I know, I know, don't—just don't—"

You could see her trying not to cry harder, but her whole body was shaking. Without thinking, you ripped off your jacket, pressing it around the worst of the bleeding with shaky hands. Addison hissed in pain, but she didn’t push you away.

"I need to call someone," you said, fumbling for your phone. "No service," Addison rasped. "We... checked earlier."

Your stomach twisted into knots. No cell service. Miles from the trailhead. A storm moving in fast.

"You’re not dying out here," you told her, voice rough with fear. "You hear me?"

Addison tried to laugh — it came out more like a sob. "You don’t even like me," she whispered. "Doesn’t matter," you said fiercely, tightening your grip on her blood-slick hand. "I’m not letting you die."