Chapter 1: The City Of Love

Philadelphia. The City of Brotherly Love.

Thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit.

Snow drifted lazily from the heavens, painting the city in a blanket of white. It settled on parked cars, decorated rooftops, and the bare branches of sleeping trees. Christmas lights flickered along storefronts, illuminating the sidewalks with reds, greens, and golds. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn blared impatiently, followed by the muffled laughter of children playing in the snow. The city was alive, even in the cold. Families gathered behind warm windows, couples hurried along icy sidewalks, and the smell of roasted chestnuts drifted through the streets. For once, Philadelphia seemed to have put its troubles aside. It was peaceful. Beautiful, even.

And inside a modest home nestled in a quiet neighborhood, one fifteen-year-old boy was having the most difficult battle of his morning. Waking up.

"Five more minutes..."

I buried my face beneath my comforter, curling into the warmest corner of my bed like a caterpillar preparing for the world's longest nap.

Winter break.

Two beautiful words that meant absolutely nothing if I was expected to be awake before noon.

Unfortunately, my alarm clock didn't share my philosophy.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

"OH, COME ON!"

I slapped the thing so hard I nearly sent it flying off my nightstand. The silence that followed was the sweetest sound I'd heard all week.

I lay there for another moment, staring at the ceiling.

No school. No homework. No teachers breathing down my neck about missing assignments. No early morning sprints to catch the bus. This is what heaven must feel like.

Then my stomach growled.

Loudly.

I glanced toward my bedroom door.

And just like that, my priorities changed.

Because floating up the staircase was a smell so heavenly, so unbelievably delicious, that I briefly considered whether I could survive the rest of my life downstairs.

Pancakes.

Bacon.

Eggs. And something buttery that made my stomach perform an Olympic-level gymnastics routine.

My mother was cooking.

And when my mother cooked, you didn't ask questions. You simply showed up, grabbed a plate, and thanked whatever higher power had blessed your household.

I dragged myself out of bed, shuffled into some sweatpants, and threw on a hoodie. My hair was doing whatever it pleased, my eyes were barely open, and I was reasonably certain my soul hadn't caught up with my body yet.

But breakfast waited for no man.

Especially not a hungry one.

"OTIS!" my mother called from downstairs. "Breakfast is ready, baby!"

"COMING!" I stumbled toward the staircase, gripping the railing like an elderly man descending Mount Everest. The moment I reached the bottom, warmth wrapped around me. The kitchen smelled incredible, the living room glowed with Christmas lights, and the television played a soft melody of holiday music in the background.

There they were.

My parents.

My father sat at the dining table, dressed in a comfortable sweater, his glasses resting near the end of his nose as he read the morning newspaper. A steaming cup of coffee sat beside him. Across the kitchen, my mother moved between the stove and the counter, humming along to the music as she arranged breakfast on a couple of plates.

She turned toward me, and her entire face brightened. "There's my handsome boy!"

"Morning, Ma."

I leaned down to kiss her cheek before slipping into my chair.

She smiled and placed a plate in front of me piled high with pancakes, scrambled eggs, and crispy bacon.

"Eat up, sweetheart. You look like you haven't seen food in three business days."

"That's because I haven't. I've been abandoned. Neglected. Left to perish."

My mother laughed.

"Boy, please."

"Glad to see my suffering amuses you."

"Your suffering?" my father asked without lifting his eyes from the newspaper. "You slept until nearly ten." I slowly turned toward him.

"And yet, somehow, I'm still the victim."

Dad finally lowered the newspaper, peering at me over his glasses with that familiar look of amusement.

"Good morning to you too, son."

"Morning, Pops."

He folded the newspaper slightly and chuckled.

"Looks like we're getting snow all winter. Forecast says we might have some pretty heavy snowfall before the season's over."

There it was.

That smile.

That little twinkle in his eyes.

The man loved winter. Not liked it. Not enjoyed it.

Loved it.

My father could watch the weather forecast announce three consecutive months of freezing temperatures and react like somebody had just handed him front-row tickets to the Super Bowl.

He took a slow sip of coffee, gazing toward the window where snowflakes floated past the glass.

"Now this is Christmas weather."

I stared at him.

My man. My father. The very person who spent half his life complaining about the price of heating bills, is celebrating the arrival of weather that practically demands we turn the heat up.

I shook my head and stabbed a piece of pancake with my fork.

Somewhere along the line, adulthood must've done something to his brain. I'll be sure to avoid whatever it was. "Something funny, Otis?" Dad asked.

"Nope."

"You've got that look on your face."

"What look?"

"The one that says you're thinking something you probably shouldn't say out loud."

I gave him my most innocent smile.

"That's a very hurtful assumption, sir."

Mom snorted from the stove.

Dad laughed, shaking his head before returning to his newspaper.

And just like that, our morning settled into the familiar rhythm I loved most. The clinking of silverware. The quiet hum of the television. My mother asking if I wanted more eggs before I'd even finished my first serving. My father occasionally commenting on some headline, usually followed by a story about how things were different when he was growing up.

It was ordinary.

Comfortable.

Home.

And sometimes, I think, the best things in life are the ones you don't realize you'll miss until they've become memories.

But I wasn't thinking about that then.

I was fifteen.

My biggest concerns involved what sneakers I wanted next, whether my friends were awake yet, and how much food I could eat before my mother started questioning where it all went.

Life was simple.

At least, I thought it was. "So," Dad began, setting the newspaper aside. "I've been thinking."

I paused halfway through chewing.

Uh-oh.

Those three words had never led to anything that benefited my free time.

Mom sat down beside him with her own plate.

"Thinking about what?"

"How long it's been since the three of us went out and did something together. I've been working a lot lately, and with Christmas coming up, I figured we could spend the evening shopping downtown. Get something to eat afterward. Maybe walk around and enjoy the decorations."

Mom's face lit up.

"Oh, I love that idea!"

I slowly lowered my fork.

Tonight? Christmas shopping?

With my parents?

I had plans.

Well, technically, I had plans to see whether my friends had plans, which could eventually lead to plans of our own. But that was beside the point.

My first instinct was to negotiate.

Perhaps a compromise. A diplomatic agreement. A carefully constructed argument explaining why a fifteen-year-old boy deserved a little freedom during winter break.

Then I looked at my father.

He'd been pulling long shifts lately. Some mornings, he'd leave before I was awake. Other nights, he'd return so late that the only conversation we'd have would be a sleepy goodnight exchanged from opposite ends of the hallway. He worked hard for us.

Harder than I probably understood.

And despite how much I teased him, I admired that about him.

Besides, it had been a while since we'd spent an evening together.

"Yeah," I said, picking up my glass. "That actually sounds pretty good."

Dad raised an eyebrow.

"No complaints? No dramatic speech about how we're ruining your life?"

"Don't tempt me, Pops. I'm capable of a performance worthy of an award."

He grinned.

"That's my boy."

I smiled back.

"Just tell me we're eating somewhere good."

Mom shook her head affectionately. "Always thinking about food."

"Ma, with all due respect, food is the foundation of a successful family."

"Then I suppose we're building a skyscraper with the way you eat," Dad replied.

I nearly choked on my drink.

And there went the morning, filled with laughter, playful arguments, and the kind of happiness that made the cold outside feel a million miles away.

For a little while, everything was exactly as it should be.

Then came a knock at the door.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It was quiet enough that I almost missed it.

"I'll get it!" I called, pushing my chair back. I crossed the living room, stepped around a couple of Christmas presents Mom had hidden beneath a blanket, and opened the front door.

A blast of cold air hit me in the face.

Standing on the porch were two familiar faces, both bundled up against the weather.

Robbie stood on the left, his dark skin contrasting with the bright blue scarf wrapped around his neck. His coat was zipped all the way up, and his gloved hands were tucked beneath his arms. He had the sort of expression that made him look perpetually amused by something nobody else understood.

Beside him stood Jackie, a mixed-race girl with a thick winter coat, a knitted hat, and a few snowflakes resting on her shoulders. Her hands were shoved into her pockets, and she wore that familiar little smirk that usually meant trouble was somewhere nearby.

My face immediately broke into a grin.

"Well, look what the snow dragged in!"

Robbie looked me up and down. "Bro, you look terrible."

I leaned against the doorframe.

"And you look like somebody lost a fight with a laundry basket. What's your point?"

Jackie laughed.

"Can we come inside before you two start acting like an old married couple?"

"Absolutely. Please, come in. The establishment is warm, the food is excellent, and our customer service is questionable."

They stepped inside, shaking the snow from their coats.

"Good morning, Mr. Hayes," Robbie greeted my father respectfully.

"Morning, Robbie."

"Hi, Mrs. Hayes!" Jackie added brightly.

Mom smiled at them from the kitchen.

"Hello, you two! Have you eaten yet?"

Robbie's eyes practically sparkled. "Not really, ma'am."

I turned toward him.

"Bro, you ate at my house yesterday."

"And?"

"And you ate my food."

"Your point?"

I stared at him.

This is the kind of person I choose to associate with. Somebody who treats my refrigerator like a public service.

Mom chuckled.

"There's some extra breakfast if you boys are hungry."

"See?" Robbie said, pointing at me. "Your mother understands me."

"Unfortunately."

Jackie slipped off her gloves and looked between us. "Can we go before I freeze to death listening to this?"

I turned toward the kitchen.

"Ma! Pops! I'm heading out with Robbie and Jackie!"

Dad looked up from the table.

"All right, son. Be careful out there. The sidewalks are going to be slippery."

"I will."

"And don't forget our plans tonight."

"I won't. I'll be home in time, promise."

He nodded.

"Good. Have fun."

Mom gave me a warm smile. "Love you, baby!"

"Love you too, Ma!"

I grabbed my coat, zipped it up, and stepped outside with my friends. Before closing the door, I glanced back at my parents one last time.

Dad had already returned to his newspaper, and Mom was gathering the breakfast dishes.

Nothing unusual.

Nothing worth remembering.

At least, not yet.

I pulled the door shut behind me.

And the three of us disappeared into the snowy streets of Philadelphia. The cold hit differently once you were outside for more than five minutes.

It wasn't the kind of cold you could simply ignore. It slipped through the spaces between your clothes, nipped at your ears, and made your nose feel like it was about to fall off.

Robbie seemed personally offended by the temperature.

"Bro, why is winter even a thing?"

I glanced at him.

"Because the Earth rotates around the sun, genius."

"I didn't ask for a science lesson."

"Then stop asking science questions."

Jackie shook her head, laughing as we crossed the street.

"You two are exhausting." "You're welcome," Robbie and I answered simultaneously.

We looked at each other.

Then burst out laughing.

That was us.

Three completely different personalities somehow held together by friendship, bad jokes, and an alarming amount of nonsense.

Robbie was the kind of guy who could turn a five-minute trip to the corner store into a three-hour adventure. Jackie was sharper than both of us combined, always ready with a comeback before we'd even finished talking. And me?

Well, I liked to think I was the glue holding the whole operation together.

Robbie disagreed. Jackie said we were both idiots.

Honestly, she probably had a point.

We spent the morning wandering through our neighborhood, admiring the Christmas decorations, stopping at familiar storefronts, and arguing over what we'd do once school started again.

"Man, sophomore year is gonna be crazy," Robbie said, kicking a small mound of snow off the sidewalk.

"Crazy how?" I asked.

"New classes. Harder assignments. More responsibilities. Probably teachers who wake up every morning and decide to ruin people's lives."

"Sounds like you just described every teacher you've ever had," Jackie said.

"Exactly. And now there'll be more of them."

I laughed.

"Bro, you're talking like we're heading into a war." "We are. It's called high school."

Jackie rolled her eyes.

"You're both making it sound worse than it is."

"Easy for you to say," Robbie replied. "You actually do your homework."

"Because I have a brain."

"And because you enjoy making the rest of us look bad."

"That too."

I laughed so hard I nearly slipped on a patch of ice.

The day carried on like that, filled with playful arguments, spontaneous detours, and the kind of stupid decisions that seemed brilliant when you were fifteen.

We stopped to watch a couple of younger kids build a snowman outside a row of brick houses. Robbie insisted that its crooked face resembled one of our teachers. Jackie threw a snowball at him for saying so. He retaliated, and within seconds, the three of us were chasing one another down the sidewalk like children half our age. At some point, I slipped, landed on my backside, and heard both of them laugh so hard that I briefly considered ending our friendship.

Note to self: never trust your best friends during a snowstorm.

Still, I wouldn't have traded those moments for anything.

They were my people.

The ones who knew when I was joking and when I wasn't. The ones who could make a bad day better without even trying.

And the ones I'd always show up for, no matter what.

Because that was just how I was raised.

My parents had taught me that being a good person wasn't about how many people knew your name. It was about what you did when somebody needed help, especially when helping them offered you absolutely nothing in return.

I believed that. I still do.

I just didn't understand how much that belief would cost me.

By the time we made our way downtown, the snowfall had grown heavier. The city center shimmered beneath strings of Christmas lights, and storefront windows glowed with festive displays. People hurried along the sidewalks with shopping bags tucked beneath their arms, their breath forming little clouds in the freezing air.

Somewhere nearby, a street musician played a Christmas song on a trumpet.

For a moment, Philadelphia felt like something out of a postcard.

Robbie stopped beside a storefront window.

"Yo, Otis. You see those shoes?"

I followed his gaze. A fresh pair of sneakers sat behind the glass, displayed beneath a spotlight.

I whistled.

"Those are clean."

"Right? Imagine those with my fit."

"Imagine paying your bills first," Jackie said.

Robbie turned toward her.

"Why do you always attack my dreams?"

"Because your dreams are expensive and your wallet is empty."

I laughed.

"She's got you there, bro."

Robbie shook his head.

"Both of y'all are haters. When I get rich, don't ask me for anything."

"Can I have a sandwich?" I asked.

"No."

"Not even a little one?" "Especially not a little one."

Jackie burst out laughing.

We continued down the sidewalk, eventually reaching a busy intersection near the heart of downtown. Traffic crawled along the snow-covered streets, headlights cutting through the falling flakes. A crowd gathered near the crosswalk, waiting for the pedestrian signal to change.

I shoved my hands into my coat pockets.

"So, what are we doing after this?"

"Food," Robbie answered immediately.

"Of course," Jackie muttered.

"I'm serious. I'm starving."

"You are always starving," I told him.

"That's because my body is a temple."

"Your body is a public park. Anybody can throw garbage in there." Jackie doubled over laughing.

Robbie opened his mouth to respond.

But before he could say a word—

BOOOOOOOOM!

The world exploded.

A tremendous blast erupted from somewhere down the street, shaking the pavement beneath our feet. The sound ripped through the city like thunder, swallowing the Christmas music and the chatter of pedestrians in one deafening instant.

Windows shattered.

Car alarms screamed.

A shock wave of dust and debris swept through the intersection, sending people stumbling and screaming in every direction.

I froze.

For a fraction of a second, my brain refused to understand what my eyes were seeing.

Then came the screams. People ran past me, knocking into one another as smoke billowed from a nearby building. Somewhere behind us, a woman cried out for her child. A car mounted the curb, its tires spinning helplessly against the snow.

"What the hell was that?!" Robbie shouted.

I turned toward the source of the explosion.

A bank.

The front entrance had been blasted apart, leaving shattered glass and chunks of masonry scattered across the sidewalk. Smoke poured from the damaged building, twisting into the winter sky.

And then they came out.

Four men.

Maybe five.

They emerged from the smoke carrying guns, their dark clothing dusted with debris. Each wore a distinctive white mask shaped like a lion's face, its snarling features painted in stark black lines. They looked almost theatrical.

Until one of them raised his weapon and fired into the air.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The crowd erupted into another wave of panic.

"EVERYBODY GET DOWN!" one of the men roared.

People dropped to the pavement. Others sprinted for cover behind cars and storefronts.

The men moved with frightening confidence, shouting at one another as they dragged heavy bags from the ruined entrance.

Robbers.

They'd blown open a bank in the middle of downtown Philadelphia.

On Christmas Eve.

You've got to be kidding me.

"OTIS!" Jackie screamed. I turned just as another wave of people surged between us.

Someone slammed into my shoulder.

I stumbled backward, lost my footing, and caught myself against a streetlight. When I looked up again, Robbie was nowhere in sight.

"ROBBIE!"

No answer.

"JACKIE!"

A wave of terrified pedestrians swept through the intersection, separating us completely. I pushed through the crowd, searching desperately for either of them.

"ROBBIE! JACKIE!"

My voice was swallowed by the chaos.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Okay. Okay, don't panic.

That was easier said than done. I searched behind a parked car, then around the corner of a nearby storefront. People were crouched behind anything they could find. A man was helping an elderly woman to her feet. Someone else was shouting into a phone, desperately trying to reach emergency services.

I couldn't see my friends.

And I had no idea where the gunmen were.

Then I heard it.

A small voice.

A frightened, trembling cry coming from somewhere beneath the wreckage near the bank.

"Help! Somebody, please!"

I turned.

Through the haze of dust and drifting snow, I saw her.

A little girl. She couldn't have been more than six or seven. She was trapped beneath a collapsed section of masonry near the edge of the sidewalk, her tiny legs pinned under a heavy slab of broken concrete. Her pink winter coat was covered in dust, and tears streaked her cheeks as she struggled to pull herself free.

Her mother was nowhere in sight.

"Please!" she cried again. "It hurts!"

My stomach dropped.

I looked toward the street.

People were running.

The gunmen were still nearby.

And I was fifteen years old.

I wasn't a police officer. I wasn't a firefighter. I wasn't some superhero from the comics I used to read.

I was just Otis Hayes.

A kid who hadn't even figured out what he wanted to do with his life. Every instinct screamed at me to run.

Find cover. Get somewhere safe. Let the adults handle it.

But then the little girl looked up.

Our eyes met.

And I couldn't move.

Because I knew what would happen if I walked away.

I'd spend the rest of my life wondering whether she could've survived if I'd just tried.

I swallowed hard.

"Hey!" I shouted, hurrying toward her. "Hey, I'm coming! Just hang on!"

I dropped to my knees beside the rubble.

Up close, the slab looked enormous. It was a thick, jagged piece of concrete resting across the lower half of her body, with smaller chunks of broken stone wedged around her legs.

I placed both hands against its edge and pushed.

Nothing. I adjusted my footing, gritted my teeth, and tried again.

"Come on..."

The concrete didn't budge.

My arms trembled. My sneakers slid against the snowy pavement.

I could hear gunfire somewhere behind me.

My pulse pounded in my ears.

"Come ON!"

I pushed with everything I had.

My shoulders burned. My teeth clenched so tightly my jaw hurt. I could feel the strain crawling through my arms, my back, every muscle in my body.

For one terrible moment, I thought I wasn't strong enough.

Then the slab shifted. Just a little.

My eyes widened.

Wait. What?

I pushed again.

A low grinding sound rose from beneath the concrete as it lifted another inch.

I stared at it in disbelief.

I wasn't particularly weak, but I wasn't exactly built to lift a building either.

And yet somehow, somehow, the massive slab was rising beneath my hands.

I didn't have time to question it.

I screamed through clenched teeth and heaved upward until the concrete tilted far enough for the girl to slide free. "Go! Go, go, go!"

She scrambled out, crying, and I caught her beneath the arms before she could fall.

"You're okay," I told her, trying to keep my voice steady. "You're okay. I've got you."

I guided her toward the sidewalk and helped her stand.

She wrapped her arms around me.

"Thank you..."

For a moment, everything else seemed to disappear.

The gunfire.

The screaming.

The collapsing debris.

All I could feel was the little girl trembling against my coat.

I hugged her back.

"You're safe now."

I wanted to believe that. I really did.

Then someone shouted behind me.

"HEY! YOU!"

I turned.

One of the lion-masked robbers stood several yards away, his weapon hanging at his side. His white mask stared back at me through the drifting smoke.

For a split second, neither of us moved.

Then his gaze shifted toward the little girl.

"Playing hero, are we?"

My blood turned cold.

I gently pushed the girl toward the nearest group of fleeing pedestrians.

"Run!" I whispered. "Don't look back. Just run!"

She hesitated.

"GO!"

She ran.

The robber charged toward me. I turned and bolted.

My shoes pounded against the pavement as I darted between abandoned cars and scattered debris. I heard him shouting behind me, his boots crunching through the snow.

I glanced over my shoulder.

Bad idea.

I never saw the blow coming.

Something hard slammed into the back of my head.

A blinding flash of pain exploded through my skull.

My knees buckled.

I hit the pavement hard, palms scraping against broken glass and icy concrete. The world spun violently around me, the buildings tilting at impossible angles.

I tried to get up. My arms barely listened.

A shadow fell over me.

The robber stood above me, gripping a metal weapon in one hand. I couldn't tell whether it was a baton or a length of pipe. My vision blurred as he raised it.

"Should've minded your own business, kid."

I scrambled backward, my hands slipping against the snow.

"Wait—"

He kicked me in the ribs.

The air left my lungs.

I curled onto my side, gasping, struggling to pull in a breath that wouldn't come.

The robber laughed.

"That's what happens when you play hero."

He raised his weapon again. I stared at him, helpless, my entire body screaming at me to move.

Get up.

Nothing.

Come on, Otis. GET UP!

My hands shook against the pavement.

I didn't want to die.

Not here.

Not today.

Not when I hadn't even gotten the chance to say goodbye to my parents.

Not when Robbie and Jackie were still out there somewhere.

The robber stepped closer.

"Any last words?"

I swallowed, tasting blood.

"Yeah..."

My voice came out weak.

"Your mask looks stupid." For a moment, he simply stared at me.

Then he snarled.

"Smart mouth."

He drew his arm back.

And that's when a sharp metallic CRACK rang out behind him.

The robber staggered sideways.

A broken length of metal pipe struck the pavement, clattering across the snow.

Standing behind him was Jackie.

Her face was pale, her breathing ragged, and both hands gripped the remaining length of the pipe. Her eyes were wide with fear, but beneath that fear was something fierce.

Something that said she wasn't about to let her best friend die in the street. "GET AWAY FROM HIM!" she screamed.

The robber stumbled, clutching his shoulder.

Jackie grabbed my arm.

"OTIS! GET UP!"

I tried.

My legs nearly folded beneath me, but she pulled me upright and wrapped my arm around her shoulders.

"Come on! Come on!"

We staggered toward a narrow alley between two buildings as another burst of gunfire echoed through the intersection.

I glanced back.

The robber was recovering.

And he was looking straight at us.

"RUN!" Jackie shouted.

We ran.

Or at least, we tried to.

Every step sent a fresh wave of pain through my head and ribs. My vision swam, and the world seemed strangely distant, as if I were watching everything through a fogged window. Jackie kept one arm around my waist, practically dragging me along.

"Stay with me, Otis! You hear me? Stay with me!"

"I'm trying..."

"Try harder!"

Despite everything, a weak laugh escaped me.

"You're... really bad at comforting people."

"AND YOU'RE REALLY BAD AT STAYING ALIVE!"

Fair enough.

We rounded the corner and nearly collided with someone emerging from behind a delivery truck.

"YO! THERE YOU ARE!"

Robbie.

He looked terrified, his scarf hanging loose around his neck and his eyes darting between us and the street behind us. "Oh, thank GOD!" he exclaimed. "I've been looking everywhere for you two!"

Jackie practically shoved me toward him.

"Help me get him out of here!"

Robbie's expression changed instantly when he saw the blood running down the side of my face.

"Bro... what happened to you?"

"Long story," I muttered.

"LONG STORY? YOU LOOK LIKE YOU GOT HIT BY A CAR!"

"Technically, I didn't."

"OTIS!"

"Okay, okay!"

Robbie grabbed my other arm, helping Jackie support me as the three of us stumbled deeper into the alley. Behind us, the city continued to scream.

Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance, growing louder with every passing second. Red and blue lights flickered against the surrounding buildings, reflecting off the falling snow.

We finally reached the rear entrance of a closed storefront, where Robbie and Jackie helped me sit against the brick wall.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

We were alive.

Somehow, we were alive.

Robbie crouched in front of me, his face twisted with worry.

"Man... what were you thinking?"

I stared down at my trembling hands.

I didn't have an answer.

I'd seen a little girl trapped beneath a pile of rubble. I'd known she needed help.

And I'd gone.

That was all there was to it.

"I couldn't just leave her," I whispered.

Robbie looked away, running a hand over his face.

Jackie crouched beside me, gently examining the wound on my head.

"You could've been killed, Otis."

I looked at her.

"I know."

"Then why would you—"

"Because she needed help!"

My voice cracked louder than I intended.

Both of them fell silent. I swallowed, forcing myself to breathe.

"She was scared. She was trapped. Nobody was going to get to her in time."

Jackie stared at me, her eyes glistening.

Then she reached forward and squeezed my hand.

"You're an idiot."

I managed a weak smile.

"Yeah. I've been told."

Robbie let out a shaky breath.

"You're the biggest idiot I know."

"Love you too, bro."

He shook his head, but I caught the relief in his expression.

For a moment, we sat together in the cold, listening to the sirens and the distant chaos. I thought about the little girl.

I hoped she'd found her mother.

I hoped she'd be okay.

And I hoped that whatever had just happened to us would never happen again.

I had no idea how wrong that last hope would be.

Because as I sat there, trying to understand how a normal Christmas outing had turned into a nightmare, something strange began happening beneath my skin.

At first, it was barely noticeable.

A faint tingling sensation crept along my fingertips.

I frowned and looked down. Tiny sparks of light flickered beneath the surface of my hands, vanishing almost as quickly as they appeared.

I blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Nothing.

Okay. Head injury. Definitely a head injury.

I leaned my head back against the brick wall and closed my eyes.

Then my heartbeat changed.

One thump.

A pause.