ELIAS.
I’m sorry.
The words were still on my palm. I hadn’t looked at them since the bridge. I didn’t want to see them again. But I could feel them. Not as writing. As weight. The skin where they were written felt heavier than the rest of my hand. Like someone had pressed a coin into the flesh and left it there.
I kept my hand in my pocket.
The child smiled at me through the open car door.
"Kael," he said. "You’re late."
The sedan moved before anyone answered.
Its rear wheels spun against the wet bridge, spraying water across the pavement. The open door swung hard enough to hit the side panel. Dana shoved Nadia out of its path and grabbed Mira by the coat.
"Down!"
The car cut toward us.
I reached for Mira at the same time she reached for me. My right hand caught the back of her jacket. My left stayed in my pocket. The pavement went out from under my shoes. We fell together as the sedan passed close enough for its mirror to scrape my shoulder.
Pain flashed down my arm.
The child in the back seat was still watching me.
Then the car struck the nearest abandoned vehicle.
Metal folded with a sound like a door being slammed underwater. The impact pushed the parked car sideways. Its tires jumped the curb and rolled toward the river barrier.
Dana ran after it.
"Move!" she shouted.
The abandoned car stopped against the rail. Its front end hung over the river.
For one second, nobody moved.
Then the driver inside blinked.
The man who had been sitting behind the wheel was alive. He turned his head slowly toward us, as if he had only just noticed that he was in a car.
Nadia started toward him.
Dana caught her arm.
"No."
"He’s trapped."
"The sedan is coming back."
The black car had stopped thirty meters away. Its brake lights glowed red through the rain. The driver’s door was still open. The child was still in the back seat. He hadn’t moved. He was watching us through the rear window.
Mira pulled me upright.
"Your shoulder."
"I’m fine."
"You’re bleeding."
"It’s a scratch."
"Then stop calling it fine."
She pressed her hand against my coat. The pressure hurt. I let her keep it there. Her fingers were steady. Mine weren’t.
The black sedan reversed.
Dana raised the pipe.
"We need to get off the bridge."
"Back," Nadia said. "The road behind us is blocked."
She pointed toward the entrance. The cars that had been waiting there were moving now. One after another, they rolled onto the bridge with their headlights off.
No drivers.
The first car hit the toll gate and kept going. The second crossed the center line. The third turned directly toward us.
"Run," Dana said.
This time, it was not a word on my wrist.
We ran.
Mira stayed beside me. Her right hand gripped my sleeve. My left hand stayed in my pocket. I couldn’t move it fast. I couldn’t move it at all. It was dead weight at my side, and the weight slowed me down.
She noticed.
"Your hand."
"I know."
"Take it out."
"I can’t."
"You can’t?"
"It doesn’t work like that."
She didn’t ask again. She just moved closer so I wouldn’t fall behind.
Dana moved ahead with the pipe. Nadia behind her. The bridge narrowed where construction barriers blocked half the road. There was no space to pass the abandoned cars without stepping into the oncoming lane.
A horn sounded behind us.
The black sedan accelerated.
I looked back.
The driver’s seat was empty. The car was still coming.
The child was still in the back.
"Left!" Dana shouted.
She jumped over the barrier. Nadia followed, landing badly and twisting her ankle. Mira stopped to help her.
"We don’t have time," Dana said.
"She can’t walk."
"I can," Nadia said, pushing herself up. "I can walk."
The sedan hit the barrier.
Concrete broke apart. A section of it flew across the road and struck one of the abandoned cars. The impact spun the car toward us.
Mira shoved Nadia down.
I grabbed Mira around the waist with my right arm and pulled her backward. My left arm hung at my side. Useless.
The car clipped the edge of her coat and slammed into the barrier where she had been standing.
For a moment, the four of us lay on the wet pavement, surrounded by broken concrete and glass.
Mira’s face was pressed against my chest. Her breath came fast against my neck.
"You can let go," she said.
"I know."
"You’re not letting go."
"I know that too."
The sedan reversed again.
Mira looked over her shoulder.
"You should let go now."
I did.
She got to her feet first and pulled me up. Her knee was bleeding through her jeans. She ignored it.
"Move," she said.
We crossed the barrier and entered the construction lane. Below us, the river pushed against the bridge supports, dark and swollen. The city lights on the opposite bank were frozen in place. Not flickering. Not moving. Just waiting.
Nadia limped behind us. Dana took her arm.
"Can you run?"
"No."
"Can you walk quickly?"
"Probably."
"Good enough."
The construction lane ended at a temporary fence. Beyond it stood a service staircase leading down toward the riverwalk.
The fence was locked.
Dana struck the chain with the pipe. Once. Twice.
The black sedan hit the barrier again behind us. The fence shook.
Mira looked at me.
"Give me your hand."
I did not ask why.
She placed my right palm against the lock. The mark on my wrist burned.
The word KAEL darkened. The lock clicked open.
Dana stared at it.
"That’s becoming convenient."
"It hurt," I said.
"That’s less convenient."
We pushed through the fence.
The staircase descended along the side of the bridge. Narrow. Slick. A metal rail on one side. Open air on the other. The river far below.
Behind us, the sedan finally broke through the construction barrier.
It rolled to the top of the stairs.
The headlights turned on.
Mira looked up.
"It’s not going to follow us down."
The car moved forward.
Dana started down the stairs.
"Don’t say things like that."
The sedan’s front wheels dropped onto the first step. Metal screamed against metal.
It began descending.
The stairs shook beneath our feet.
Mira slipped.
I caught her hand before she went over the rail.
My right hand. My left stayed at my side. I had her weight in one arm and nothing solid beneath my shoes.
"Kael."
"I’ve got you."
"You don’t."
The railing bent.
I moved my right hand to her wrist. Pain tore through my injured shoulder. I pulled. Mira found the next step with her foot and climbed back up.
When she reached me, she didn’t let go.
"Don’t say you’ve got me unless you mean it," she said.
"I meant it."
"That’s not the same as being able to do it."
"I know."
She looked at my shoulder.
"You’re hurt."
"Not badly."
"You’re doing it again."
"What?"
"Calling it something smaller because you don’t want me to worry."
The sedan struck the top of the staircase. A piece of its front bumper broke loose and bounced down the steps.
Mira turned away.
"Later."
We reached the riverwalk.
The path ran beneath the bridge, bordered by a locked fence on one side and the river on the other. A row of maintenance lights stretched ahead, most of them broken.
Dana pointed toward a concrete tunnel under the road.
"There."
The tunnel entrance was narrow. It led away from the bridge and toward the warehouses along the river.
Nadia leaned against the fence.
"I can’t keep up."
Dana looked at her ankle.
"It’s not broken," Nadia said.
"I didn’t ask."
"You were thinking it."
"I was thinking I might carry you."
Nadia stared at her.
"You’re not carrying me."
"I didn’t say I wanted to."
The sedan reached the bottom of the staircase. Its front wheels touched the riverwalk. The headlights swept across us.
The child was still in the back seat. One hand pressed against the glass. Watching.
Mira stepped between me and the car.
I moved in front of her.
She pushed my shoulder.
Pain made me bend.
"Don’t," she said.
"I’m not letting it take you."
"That isn’t your decision."
"It is if I’m standing here."
The sedan began moving.
Mira looked at me. Angry. Frightened.
"Then stand with me," she said. "Not in front of me."
She took my right hand.
Together, we ran toward the tunnel.
The car followed.
Its tires slipped on the wet pavement. It didn’t slow down. The child remained in the back seat, watching us through the glass as if he knew exactly where we were going.
We reached the tunnel first. Dana and Nadia disappeared around the bend. Mira pulled me inside.
The sedan entered behind us.
The tunnel was too narrow for it to turn. Its headlights filled the walls, throwing our shadows ahead of us.
"Keep going," Dana called from somewhere in the darkness.
The car accelerated.
Mira stumbled. I grabbed her around the waist and pushed her forward. She caught the wall, recovered, and kept moving.
A metal door appeared on our right. Red emergency handle.
Mira reached for it. The handle wouldn’t move.
"Try yours," she said.
"What?"
"The mark. The lock."
The car was twenty meters away.
I placed my right hand over the handle.
Nothing happened.
The mark on my wrist turned cold. The word KAEL faded. A second word appeared beneath it.
MIRA.
She saw it.
"Use both," she said.
"I can’t."
"You can’t?"
"My left hand doesn’t work."
"You haven’t tried."
The headlights grew brighter.
The child in the back seat raised his hand and pointed at Mira.
I looked at my left hand. Small. Still. Useless.
I took it out of my pocket.
I placed it on the handle.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Mira pulled me through. Dana and Nadia were waiting inside a storage room filled with old signs, broken benches, and construction equipment.
I slammed the door behind us.
The sedan hit it a second later.
The impact threw all four of us to the floor.
The door bent inward but held.
For a few seconds, nobody spoke.
Then the car hit it again.
The metal frame tore away from the wall.
Dana grabbed a long steel bar.
"Nadia, find another exit."
Nadia crawled toward the back of the room.
Mira knelt beside me. Her hand went to my shoulder.
I flinched.
"You’re worse than you said."
"Yes."
The admission surprised both of us.
She tore a strip from the bottom of her shirt and wrapped it around my arm.
"You’re ruining your clothes," I said.
"I’m aware."
"Why are you helping me?"
She pulled the knot tight.
"Because you helped me on the stairs."
"That’s it?"
"No."
She looked at me for half a second, then away.
The door bent again.
Mira stood.
"We talk when the car isn’t trying to come through the wall."
Nadia shouted from the back.
"There’s a maintenance hatch."
Dana reached her. Together, they pulled the cover loose. A narrow shaft opened beneath it.
"Everyone in," Dana said.
Another impact split the door near the hinges.
Mira grabbed my right hand.
This time, neither of us let go.
We climbed into the shaft as the storage-room door collapsed.
The sedan entered the room.
Its headlights found us before the hatch closed.
The child was no longer in the back seat.
He stood beside the car.
The shaft cover slammed down.
For a moment, I saw his face through the gap.
Not mine. Not Elias’s. A face I had never seen before.
But the voice that followed us into the dark belonged to me.
"Don’t let Mira reach the river."