The hunger wasn't just in my stomach anymore; it was in my bones. It made the mist over the ridges look like thick, cold soup.

  Leo was slumped on a rusted bench, head between his knees. He wasn't just shivering from the mountain wind; the withdrawal was tearing him apart. He looked like a candle that had melted into a heap of grey wax.

  "I can’t do it, Zany," he wheezed. His voice was a thin, ragged thread. "I can't feel my hands. Everything... everything is loud."

  "Just hold on," I said, standing up. My legs felt like they were made of water. "I’ll go down to the junction. The old man at the store owes me. I’ll get some noodles, maybe something for the shakes. Just stay here."

  "Don't leave me," he whispered, but his eyes were already sliding shut.

  I started down the slick asphalt. The fog was a wall; I could only see three feet ahead. The streetlights flickered—pale, sickly orange halos drowning in the grey. Then, a strange, heavy vibration hit the air. A pressure in my chest made every breath feel like inhaling liquid lead.

  Then, the world screamed.

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  The roar of an engine, out of control. The high-pitched screech of tires losing their grip on wet road. A heavy truck, brakes failing, barreled around the blind curve. Its headlights were two blinding, predatory suns.

  I didn't have time to be a hero. I heard a shout behind me.

  Leo.

  He had followed me. He was standing right in the path of the swaying metal beast, his face a mask of blank terror. I lunged. No "majestic" slow-motion, just frantic, burning desperation. My fingers brushed his jacket—an inch, a second too late.

  The impact wasn't a thud. It was the wet, sickening crunch of metal meeting bone.

  I didn't see a light. I felt the agonizing snap of my ribs like dry twigs. I felt the grit of the asphalt tearing the skin off my face as I was dragged. The pain was a tectonic shift—a white-hot explosion that erased my name and my breath.

  I lay there, face pressed into oily rainwater. I couldn't move. I couldn't scream.

  Five feet away, I saw Leo. He was twisted at an angle no human body should be. His eyes were open, staring at nothing, his life leaking into the mud.

  No, I thought, the darkness clawing at the edges of my vision. Not him. He was just tired.

  I tried to reach for his hand, but my arm was a heap of broken meat. The "peaceful death" people talk about is a lie. It was cold, lonely, and smelled of burnt rubber and blood.

  As my heart gave its final, stuttering throb, I didn't pray. I looked at Leo's body and sent a silent, screaming demand into the void.

  Take me. Do whatever you want. Just let him go somewhere warm.

  Then, the world didn't just go black. It went silent. The rain, the driver’s sobbing, the wind—it all vanished. I wasn't dead. I was falling through a hole in reality.