“This has been perfect,” Sadie said finally as they approached the garage where Corbyn had parked the car. “Thank you, Ellie. For everything. I feel like I’ve seen a completely different side of London.”
“And of my brother, I hope,” Ellie replied with a meaningful look at Corbyn that had him wanting to hide. “He’s actually quite sweet when he puts his mind to it.”
“I’m learning that,” Sadie said softly.
His thoughts swung between Ellie’s insistence about fate and his own mounting terror, as they continued to walk. What if telling Sadie about their past connection destroyed the careful trust they’d built? What if she thought he’d been manipulating her all along, using some romantic fantasy to influence their working relationship?
But he also couldn’t help but think, what if Ellie was right? What if Sadie also remembered that night and that connection? And what might happen if she had spent the last fifteen years chasing that memory, too?
They were just turning the corner toward the garage elevator when the crash happened. Corbyn’s body registered the sound before his mind could process it—that sickening crunch of metalfolding against metal. A delivery van had collided with a street vendor’s cart at the intersection ahead. The cart spun wildly, its contents scattering across the pavement. Then came the hiss, the whoosh, and suddenly the night split open with fire.
Brilliant orange flames shot skyward. Four years collapsed into nothing. Corbyn was back there again—trapped in the twisted wreckage, left hand crushed between the steering wheel and dashboard as fire licked at the edges of his peripheral vision. The smell of his own burning flesh filled his nostrils. Someone was screaming. Was it him? Was it the vendor? He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
“Corbyn?” Sadie’s voice seemed to come from very far away.
Suddenly, he was fleeing, both from the sight and the memories as his feet carried him down the nearest alley. His chest constricted, breathing shallow, and the world spun out of focus. Behind him, he could hear Sadie calling his name, but the sound of the fire crackling in the distance kept his feet moving.
The alley was dark and narrow, lined with overflowing bins and the back entrances to shops. Corbyn pressed his hands against the brick wall, trying to let the feel of the roughness against his skin ground him as he fought to breathe.
Footsteps echoed behind him in the alley, growing closer, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up. He couldn’t face the concern he knew he’d see. He couldn’t explain why the accident had reduced him to this trembling wreck of a man.
March 15, 2025
-Sadie-
The sound hit Sadie first. Metal against metal, followed by the sickening crunch of impact and the whoosh of something igniting. She spun toward the intersection just in time to see the delivery van overturn a vendor cart, and flames erupted from the ruptured propane tank in a brilliant orange column.
But it was Corbyn’s reaction that stole the air from her lungs.
He’d gone rigid beside her, his face draining of all color as his breathing became rapid and shallow. For a heartbeat, he stood frozen, staring at the flames with an expression of pure terror. Then, without a word, he bolted.
“Corbyn!” Sadie called, but he was already disappearing down the nearest alley, his steps faltering.
Around them, people were running toward the accident—some to help, others to gawk. Sadie could hear someone screaming, whether from pain or panic, she couldn’t tell. The vendor was on the ground, clutching his arm, while flames licked higher from his overturned cart.
“Ellie!” Sadie grabbed the other woman’s arm as she started after her brother. “Help the vendor, I’ll find Corbyn.”
Ellie held Sadie’s gaze for a moment before nodding and moving quickly towards the injured man.
Sadie ran after Corbyn, her heeled boots clicking against the pavement as she turned into the narrow alley where he’d disappeared. The sounds of the street faded behind her, replaced by the hollow echo of her footsteps between the brick walls lined with overflowing bins and service entrances.
She found him halfway down the alley, braced against the brick wall as if the bricks were the only thing holding him together. His chest heaved with each gasp, fingers splayed and shaking against the rough surface. The sight made her breath catch, and she understood immediately what he was going through. The way time folded in on itself during panic attacks, how the world narrowed to the desperate struggle for the next breath, how escape seemed impossible even as your mind screamed for it.
Sadie’s stomach ached. She’d never seen him this vulnerable, this completely stripped of the careful control he always presented to the world. She approached him slowly, not wanting to startle him further. When she was beside him, she reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder, feeling his muscles tense under her touch.
“Corbyn,” she said softly, “it’s just me… It’s Sadie.”
His eyes shot open, wide and unfocused, and his gaze darted over her face. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cold evening air, and she could see the rapid pulse beating in his throat.
“You’re not there anymore,” she continued, her hand dropping to rub a comforting circle on his back. “You’re here with me, in London. It’s Tuesday evening, March fifteenth. We came here to see Ellie…”
Corbyn’s gaze locked on hers, though his breathing remained ragged. She could see him trying to fight his way back to the present. It was a struggle she had fought many times herself.
“I need you to breathe with me,” Sadie said, keeping her voice steady and calm, drawing on her own experience. “Try to breathe in for four, hold for four, and then breathe out for six.”
She demonstrated the breathing pattern slowly, exaggerating her movements so he could follow. It took several cycles, but gradually his breathing began to slow, syncing with hers. The rigid tension in his shoulders eased fractionally, though she could still see his hands shaking against the wall.
“Now tell me three things you can see,” Sadie said gently, a grounding technique that had saved her more than once when her own memories threatened to overwhelm her. “Just three things, right here in this alley.”
