Maya jumped off the rig the second they pulled up, boots hitting pavement with a thud. The scene was chaos—glass scattered, horns still blaring, two cars crumpled together in the middle of the intersection.

She scanned for victims, ready to move— And then her heart stopped.

You were there. On your knees. Straddling a stranger’s chest, administering CPR with steady compressions, face pale but focused.

Her breath caught.

“Is she—was she—?” Maya’s voice barely made it past her throat as she grabbed Vic’s arm.

“That’s my girlfriend.”

Vic’s head snapped toward the scene. “She’s doing CPR—Maya, she’s not hurt.”

Maya didn’t wait for more reassurance. She ran.

“Babe!” she called out, but you didn’t stop—just one, two, three, compressions. Sweat clung to your temples. Your lips moved with quiet counts. It wasn’t until a paramedic knelt beside you that you let go, arms trembling as you finally sat back.

Maya dropped to her knees beside you.

“You okay? Are you hurt?”

You looked up, breathing hard. Recognition bloomed across your face, and you gave her a shaky smile.

“Not mine. Just the first one here.”

She let out a breath that sounded like relief and a prayer rolled into one, pulling you close for half a second before checking you over with frantic eyes.

“You scared the hell out of me.”

“I scare you daily,” you teased, voice hoarse.

Maya shook her head with a breathless laugh, hand curling around the back of your neck.

“You just saved someone’s life,” she murmured.

And as sirens wailed and the world moved around you, Maya stayed still—grounded only by the fact that you were still breathing.