“We’re family,” she says with quiet authority, her voice steadier than I could manage. “Both of us.”
The rescuer’s eyes dart between us. Water drips from the brim of his safety helmet as he nods, seeming to make a decision.
“We’ve recovered some gear downstream,” he says, his tone neutral. “A helmet. But no sign of him.”
No sign of him.
Juliette’s hand slips into mine, anchoring me to the present when every part of me wants to dissolve into worry.
I can’t breathe. My mind wants to deny it, to scream that there’s been a mistake, but the fear I’ve been holding at bay claws its way to the surface.
“I need to see,” I manage to croak out. “The helmet. I need to see it.”
He hesitates, like he’s searching for some way to avoid what I’m asking. His brow furrows. “Miss, I don’t think?—”
“Please,” I cut him off. The plea is stronger this time, fueled by something far deeper than fear. “I need to know if it’s his.”
He nods reluctantly, his eyes shadowed with pity. My breath catches with a sharp, painful hitch, because pity means loss. It means regret. It meanstoo late.
I do want to follow him, but I also don’t. My feet are rooted in the mud, my body screaming to stay right here. But Juliette squeezes my hand, and somehow, I move.
We’re led into a canvas tent, and then I see it.
The helmet is battered and scarred with deep scrapes that speak of violence and impact, worn beyond recognition. The sight of it sends an icy chill through my veins, freezing me in place.
The smallest detail catches my eye, almost too insignificant to matter. A sticker on the side. A little heart, faded from the wear and tear, but still unmistakable. It’s the one I gave him. The stupid, quirky little heart sticker I insisted he put on as a joke.
It’s his.
My legs give out. I hear the sound of someone’s knees hitting the ground, and it takes me a moment to realize they’re mine. The world narrows to that one small, faded heart sticker.
The rescuer rambles about the search parameters, about how they’re expanding the area, about how the river’s current is strong but people have survived worse. His words wash over me like they’re in another language entirely.
“We’re not giving up,” the rescue worker says, his voice clearer now. “If he’s out there,we’ll find him.”
I want to scream,to rage, to tear apart everything standing between me and the man I love. I want to rip the universe in half for daring to place that single, fragile word between me and my hope.
If.
Juliette crouches beside me, draping her arm around my shoulders. She’s trembling, too, but her voice remains peaceful.
“Listen to me,” she says, forcing me to look at her. “This doesn’t mean anything yet. It just means his helmet came off. That’s all we know for certain.”
Her words are logical, but logic has no place here.
The seconds crawl, dragging me through a haze of helplessness. My mind spins, tripping over worst-case scenarios, getting stuck in the places I don’t want it to go. I should move. I should do something. But there’s really nothing Icando.
And so, I wait.
I clutch my damp jacket tighter around me, but it does nothing to stop the cold burrowing deep beneath my skin. This isn’t a chill that comes from the rain. It’s an ache that settles in my bones, carved from fear and refusal to let go.
“Do you want to sit down for a minute?” Juliette asks.
I don’t answer right away. My body feels like it’s made of stone. Even the thought of sitting down seems impossible.
I shake my head, the movement sharp and quick, as if I can physically shake off the suffocating sense of helplessness. “No.”
A distant shout breaks through the tense air, and my heart leaps. I spin around, my pulse hammering in my ears, desperate to see him.Please, let it be him.
