The stairwell was a blur of noise and water.
Every step felt like wading through quicksand. The flood surged around my legs, and the air reeked of mud, sewage, and metal. I tightened my grip on the woman's arm, her body half-limp against my shoulder, while Kz struggled beside me, her breath coming out sharp and uneven.
"We're close," she managed between gasps.
I looked at her. Soaked hair plastered to her cheeks, her injured knee shaking with every step. "Kz, stop. You're gonna collapse."
She shook her head, refusing to meet my eyes. "We can't. She needs help."
Her foot slipped — she gasped — I caught her before she hit the stairs, steadying her against the wall. For a second, she leaned into me, her pulse racing beneath my hand.
"You're not okay," I muttered.
"I can do this," she said through clenched teeth. "Let's just keep moving."
I wanted to argue, but one look at the woman's pale, bloodied arm shut me up. We didn't have the luxury to stop.
Behind us, Bob barked. Sharp and desperate. The water reached halfway up his legs, but he stayed close to Pam, loyal even in panic.
"It's okay, boy," I told him, my voice rough from exhaustion. "We've got her. She's gonna be okay."
The words came out like a promise — not just for him, but for all of us.
By the time we reached the landing, my arms were shaking from her weight. Kz's hands trembled as she fumbled for her keys, slippery with rain.
"Let me go first," she panted. "Tequila and my dogs... they're not used to strangers."
She disappeared inside. Through the door, Lucky and Cleo's barking sliced through the storm, frantic and high-pitched. Then came her voice — calm, soft, grounding. Gradually, the barking quieted, replaced by the steady rhythm of rain.
When she came back, her face was pale, her breathing heavy. "Okay," she said, gesturing toward the couch. "Bring her in. Tequila's in my room with the others."
Inside, the air was thick and damp, the smell of rain mixed with fear. The emergency light flickered weakly, throwing gold across the walls. I lowered Pam carefully onto the couch, cradling her head for a moment before setting her down.
Bob whimpered, pacing in small circles before settling near her feet. His eyes darted between me and Kz, wide with something that almost looked like grief.
"It's okay, boy," I murmured, crouching down to rub the soaked fur behind his ears. "We're helping her. You hear me? We're doing everything we can."
He blinked up at me once before going still, silent now, like he knew what was at stake.
"You should change," Kz said suddenly, breaking the silence.
"So should you," I countered.
"I'll manage," she said, reaching for a towel. "Go. The dogs are in my room. Grab a towel from the drawer."
I hesitated, then nodded and slipped into her room, shutting the door behind me.
The air inside was warmer, thick with the faint scent of room freshener and damp fur. Lucky and Cleo lifted their heads the moment I stepped in, ears twitching. Tequila was curled up near the foot of the bed, her eyes heavy but watchful. None of them barked — just stared, quiet and curious.
I crouched beside my bag and pulled out a dry shirt, peeling the soaked one from my skin. My body ached all over, my arms heavy from holding the woman's weight on the stairs. The storm outside howled, muffled by the walls, but it still felt like it was shaking through my bones.
As I reached for the towel, something on the bedside table caught my eye.
A folded piece of paper.
It was small, slightly crumpled, and marked with a faint restaurant logo in the corner.
My stomach tightened.
I knew that logo.
I stepped closer, staring. The paper's edges were soft, worn like it had been opened and closed too many times.
I didn't know why, but the sight of it made my chest constrict.
It looked... familiar.
Could it be?
No. That was impossible.
My fingers hovered above it, inches away, but I stopped myself.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it just looked like the one I left behind that night.
Still, the thought wouldn't leave me. That letter was supposed to stay buried. One final attempt at closure before I walked away from everything.
When—
"Tyler!"
Kz's voice, faint but urgent, cut through my thoughts.
I blinked hard, snapping out of it. The air in my lungs came rushing back. I dropped the towel onto the bed, grabbed my damp shirt, and stepped back from the table.
"Coming!" I called, my voice rougher than I intended.
I gave the letter one last glance before turning away and heading for the door.
Whatever it was, I'd deal with it later.
Right now, there were more important things to focus on.
"Hold the flashlight," Kz said as soon as I knelt beside her. "I think her arm's dislocated. I need to check the swelling."
I angled the beam over the woman's arm and froze.
The light caught on her wrist.
A silver band. Faintly tarnished, engraved with two words that burned themselves into my mind.
Still Here.
My heartbeat stopped.
The sound of the storm dulled. I was back on that bridge, wind tearing through my clothes, my fingers slipping on cold metal. Then a voice — trembling but steady — and a hand that pulled me back from the edge.
And that bracelet.
That exact bracelet.
My lungs refused to work. My hand trembled, the flashlight wavering in my grip.
"Tyler?" Kz's voice cut through the fog — distant at first, then clearer. A warm hand settled on my shoulder.
"Hey," she said softly. "What's wrong?"
I blinked rapidly, forcing myself to breathe again. "Nothing," I said too quickly. "Never mind. I'm just—" I cleared my throat. "Checking her pulse."
I crouched closer, brushing my thumb over the bracelet again, pretending to count the beats beneath her skin. My mind screamed.
It was the same one. It had to be.
But it didn't make sense. The woman who pulled me back — her voice was different. Softer. The memory twisted, slippery and distorted by time. All that remained was that cold metal against my wrist.
"Tyler?"
I looked up. Kz was watching me, her eyes tired but steady. "You're shaking," she said quietly.
I let go of the woman's wrist and leaned back. "It's fine. Just... adrenaline."
Bob whined softly beside me, lowering his head onto Pam's arm. I reached out and stroked his head. "She's strong, buddy," I murmured. "She'll pull through."
The dog blinked, then stayed perfectly still — quiet, loyal, waiting.
Time blurred after that.
The adrenaline faded, replaced by the heavy, suffocating quiet of exhaustion. The storm outside had softened, but it still growled faintly beyond the windows.
Kz sat beside me, slumped in the chair, her eyes half-lidded. "We should keep watch," she mumbled.
"I'll do it," I said too fast.
Her lips curved faintly. "We'll take turns."
Before I could answer, her head dipped forward — once, twice — then stayed there. I caught her just before she slipped from the chair.
"Hey," I whispered, steadying her. "Rest."
Her head found my shoulder, and she went still, her breathing slowing almost immediately. I shifted slightly, sliding an arm behind her back so she could lean against me more comfortably.
Her warmth seeped into me, steady and quiet — grounding me in a way I hadn't felt in years. My chest tightened. I drew in a slow breath that hitched halfway through.
I spent years keeping people at a distance, convincing myself I didn't need anyone. No one had held me like this... not since that night on the bridge. No one stayed long enough to care whether I stood or fell.
And now, sitting here, I realized something small but sharp:
I wasn't used to being cared for.
But maybe, for once... I wanted to be.
Kz murmured something in her sleep, her brow furrowing for a second before smoothing again. Even half-conscious, she looked... strong. Brave. The kind of strength that doesn't shout but simply endures.
That was what drew me to her. Not her presence, not proximity, but the way she fought for others even when she was breaking herself. Her empathy wasn't loud, but it was relentless.
The storm outside rumbled again, low and distant.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, something glinted.
On the table beside the mug of water was another bracelet.
Same braided band. Same words.
But this one had something extra — a small silver charm shaped like a K.
My throat went dry.
Two bracelets. Two women. One memory.
I looked down at Kz, her face peaceful against my shoulder, and something inside me twisted.
"Who are you really?" I whispered — not loud enough for Kz to hear.
I didn't know which of them had saved me that night.
All I knew was that one of them had.
And for the first time in years, I was terrified to find out who.
Outside, the rain eased.
Inside, my thoughts refused to.
The storm might be ending, but inside me — it was just beginning.