The ride was smooth, the kind that made the highway feel endless. You and Ash side by side, engines humming in sync, the rest of the group stretched out behind. The sun was dropping low, painting everything gold, and you could feel his presence there without even looking. Close, steady, untouchable.

Then a car drifted too close.

One second you were cruising, the next your lane vanished. The impact was sudden—tires screaming, handlebars jerking, asphalt rushing up. Your bike skidded out, the world flipped sideways, and you were sliding hard across the pavement. Sparks burst around you, metal grinding against the road. Pain seared your hip, your shoulder, your arm—but you stayed conscious. Breathing fast.

You came to a stop near the shoulder, chest heaving.

Voices cut through the ringing. “Don’t move her—” “Helmet, check her visor—”

Hands found your arm, steady but insistent. Your visor lifted, light flooding in. You blinked, dizzy, trying to focus.

But your thoughts weren’t on yourself. They were on him.

Ash.

You twisted your head despite the protest in your body. “Where’s—”

“Don’t move,” someone cut in sharply, pressing your shoulder back to the ground. “Stay still, just breathe.”

But you couldn’t stop looking. Your chest tightened as your eyes scanned the road, desperate.

And then you saw it.

His bike was down too, a few meters away in the middle lane. Ash’s body sprawled near it.

Your blood ran cold.

“Fuck—he’s down!” one of the guys shouted, boots already pounding the pavement. The group split—some dropping to their knees at your side, others sprinting toward him.

They didn’t say his name again. Not out loud. Not to you. You could feel them trying to block your line of sight, angling their bodies, their hands keeping you pinned. But you’d already seen enough.

Ash had fallen. Just like you.

And no matter how many times they told you not to move, you couldn’t drag your eyes away from where he lay on the asphalt.