PROLOGUE
Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles ached, but she didn’t loosen her hold. The rhythmic squeal of the windshield wipers fought a losing battle against the rain slamming the glass. The storm had rolled in fast, swallowing the road in a blur of black and gray, but she kept driving. She didn’t know where she was going. She only knew she couldn’t stop.
The tires splashed through shallow puddles, the sound sharp and jarring in the oppressive quiet of the car. The radio had been turned off hours ago, silenced in a moment of frustration. Music was too much, too loud, too messy, too full of things she didn’t want to feel.
What she wanted was silence.
But the silence wasn’t empty. It was alive, buzzing with thoughts she couldn’t escape, the things she never let herself say aloud.
Her breath came in short, uneven gasps, fogging the edges of the windshield. She cracked the window, letting in the damp, cold air, hoping it might clear her head. It didn’t.
The voice was still there.
“You’re scared,” it said again, cruel in its truth. “So scared of letting anyone in that you’re going to end up completely alone.”
She winced, her fingers tightening on the wheel.
The voice wasn’t wrong. She hated how much it wasn’t wrong.
She pressed harder on the gas. The car jerked forward, the rain streaking faster across the windshield. The road ahead was nothing but shadows, slick with water and bending unpredictably through the trees.
The voice came again, louder now, as if the storm itself were speaking. “You don’t know how to let go, do you? You’re too busy holding everything together to see what’s slipping away.”
Her jaw clenched. Her breath hitched.
“I’m not running,” she whispered to the empty car, though the words felt hollow, even to her.
The headlights illuminated a curve in the road, but her reaction was a beat too slow. The tires skidded, the car lurching to the side.
“Dammit,” she muttered, yanking the wheel to correct the slide. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest, faster than it had any right to, faster than it ever did even in the operating room.
The rain grew heavier, drowning the sound of the engine. The road stretched out endlessly, the trees lining it like shadowed sentinels. A sharp turn was coming; she could see it now, a warning sign barely visible through the downpour.
She should slow down.
But she didn’t.
The voice wouldn’t let her.
“You’ll never be enough for them. Not for anyone.”
Her stomach twisted, her hands trembling on the wheel. The car sped on, the rain blurring the edges of the world. Her thoughts were louder than the storm, louder than reason.
Then it happened.
A blinding flash of light. Not lightning, headlights. Too close.
Her breath caught in her throat as the other car loomed into view, the soaked road narrowing between them. She swerved instinctively, the wheel twisting sharply beneath her hands.
The tires screamed against the pavement.
The car spun once, twice, the world tilting violently. There was a jarring impact, the sound of metal tearing and glass shattering.
And then, just as suddenly, there was nothing.
Only darkness.
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