The metal of the train bridge was cold beneath their fingers, damp with fog and rust. Far below, the ravine swallowed sound, a vast darkness that felt endless. The distant rumble of an oncoming train vibrated through the beams, subtle at first—like a pulse building in the bones of the structure.

Dwayne hung from the underside of the bridge, arms strong and steady, boots dangling into the nothing. He looked up toward {{user}}, who still stood hesitating on the ledge above, fingers curled tight around the beam. The wind tugged at their clothes and hair, teasing their balance, daring them forward.

He didn’t say anything. He just looked at them, dark eyes steady, unreadable but calm. There was no fear in him. No urgency. Just quiet expectation.

The train’s headlights began to glow faintly through the fog, casting pale beams across the tracks. The vibration grew stronger, the sound echoing through the canyon like distant thunder.

Dwayne reached up with one hand—slowly, deliberately—and held it out toward them.

Not a command.

Not a challenge.

An invitation.

The others weren’t here tonight. No crowd, no laughter, no tests. Just the wind, the steel, and the space between them. Trust hung heavier than the mist, clinging to the moment.

His gaze never left {{user}}’s.

No pressure. No words.

Only: Jump when you’re ready.

And he would be there.