Chapter One
The Accident
Seattle, Washington – 3:00 AM
Rain slams against my windshield like a thousand tiny fists, each drop exploding in a blur of motion. My wipers screech across the glass in frantic rhythm, struggling to keep up, but the storm is merciless. Thunder growls above me, low and threatening, shaking the sky like it's warning me to turn back.
My fingers ache from how tightly I'm gripping the wheel, my knuckles ghost-white against the darkness inside my car. My eyes, raw and burning, sting with every blink. The fatigue is overwhelming—three back-to-back twelve-hour shifts have hollowed me out, body and soul. I'm running on fumes, nerves frayed to threads, but the only thing that matters is getting home. My bed is a beacon in my mind, warm and soft, somewhere I can finally shut out the world.
But tonight, the world won't be shut out.
The tires hum over the slick pavement, the sound a steady drone that lulls my weary brain. Water pours from the heavens in unrelenting torrents, blurring my vision, swallowing the road ahead. Somewhere in the distance, lightning rips the sky apart, illuminating the outline of the trees in jagged white.
Still, it's not the storm outside that has my chest tight with unease—it's the one inside.
Images flicker in my mind, unbidden. The echo of fists hitting walls. The sting of cruel words. The sharp sting of bruises hidden beneath my scrubs. My abuser's voice still haunts the back of my mind, sweetened apologies masking the rot beneath. I escaped. I survived. But the past doesn't let go easily.
I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie, jaw clenched, shoulders stiff. I'm almost there. Just a few more miles. Just a little farther.
The lights of the city are long gone, replaced by a winding, empty road that stretches out like a ribbon through the darkness. The bridge comes into view ahead, its structure silhouetted against the stormy sky. Beneath it, the river is swollen and angry, a rushing monster waiting to swallow anything that dares get too close.
A blast of lightning ignites the sky—blinding, electric white. In that frozen moment, I see it.
Something.
A flash of movement. A shadow in the road.
My heart seizes. My foot slams the brake, and instinct takes over. I jerk the wheel hard to the right.
A mistake.
The tires hydroplane instantly, skimming over the water-slicked asphalt. The back end whips sideways in a violent spin. I scream—raw, terrified—as the world becomes chaos. I twist the wheel, trying to correct, but the car doesn't respond. The road has vanished beneath me. I'm nothing but momentum.
The metal railing rushes toward me. There's a deafening crunch as the car slams into it, the frame shuddering with the impact.
Time fractures.
I feel the guardrail buckle, hear the snap of twisted steel giving way. Gravity shifts.
I'm airborne.
The headlights cut through the rain just long enough to show me the black river below, churning white with foam. Then the car plunges downward.
The impact is a monstrous sound—steel crumpling, glass exploding, water surging. Pain erupts as my head smashes against the window, as the seatbelt slices into my collarbone, as the cold hits me like a wall.
The windshield bursts inward, jagged shards biting into my skin like ice. Water floods the cabin, invading every space, every breath.
I choke.
I scream.
I thrash, but pain shoots through my body, sharp and unbearable.
The river is alive, and it wants me.
I'm sinking.
The surface vanishes above me, blurred by blood and rain and shadows.
My lungs scream for air.
My mind begins to fade.
And then—
Nothing.
