By the time Jeff heard the sound of impact, he was already at the edge of the intersection.
He looked up and understood it immediately.Too late.
One car was stopped in front of the crosswalk, headlights still on.A smear of crushed insects clung to the windshield.
Another had stopped farther forward.The left door was dented inward, the tire pressed against the curb.
Bystanders had formed an uneven circle.
Someone crouched to photograph the ground.Someone else stood on tiptoe, peering over shoulders.Phones were held to ears, voices lowered.
A person lay on the pavement.The corner of a dark coat was folded back, revealing a sweater beneath, worn thin and pilled.
Someone lay there.
The outcome had already been set.Everything after was just filling in the visuals.
Jeff stepped forward.
His foot crossed a loose paving stone.It clicked softly.
His body chose the most efficient path automatically.
Angle. Distance. Stride.Perfect to the millimeter.
As if he had walked this route countless times before.As if he knew which ground would hold and which would not.
He crouched and reached out, touching the person's shoulder first.
Cold.
Not the kind of cold that arrives gradually.The kind that remains after something is already finished.
His hand moved to the neck.Fingers brushed against short stubble.
No pulse.
Clean.Nothing blurred. Nothing lingering.
This hadn't just happened.
It had already been taken away.
Someone nearby said the ambulance was on its way, voice trembling.Someone else added that it must have been a red-light violation.
The explanations sounded natural.
Too natural.
Like they were patching a reasonable story onto the scene.
Jeff didn't respond.
He looked at the unfamiliar face on the ground and felt that he had arrived a moment too late.
The result was already fixed.
He had only been allowed in to confirm it.
A voice came from behind him, casual and unrelated.
"This intersection always sounds earlier than you expect."
The tone was light.Like someone commenting on the weather.
Jeff paused.When he turned, his heel ground lightly against the pavement.
A man stood there.
Mid-thirties.Dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms.A simple silver watch at his wrist.
But once he spoke, he couldn't be ignored.
The man glanced at the body, then back at Jeff.
"What were you about to do?" he asked.
Jeff didn't answer right away.His throat tightened.
He had wanted to do something.
Earlier than this.Before the result settled—push it back half a step.
He looked down at his hands.
His fingers were still frozen in the angle they'd held moments before.As if waiting for a next move that no longer existed.
Patch appeared at his feet without him noticing.
The cat's tail tapped lightly against the ground.
And Jeff felt it clearly—
A portion of his motion had been cut away.
He had been about to lean forward again.
That movement had been stopped.
Not to save the stranger.
But to keep Jeff from stepping in as well.
As he inhaled, his chest finally tightened.The smell of oil and dust lingered in his nose.He hadn't fully exited the afterimage of predictive sight.
The man added, as if closing the thought,
"Some places don't leave gaps for intervention."
He paused, apparently satisfied with that.
"You don't look like this is your first time."
Jeff lifted his head, about to ask who he was.
The words reached his lips, then fell back.His tongue pressed lightly against his palate.
He understood then—
The answer didn't matter.
What mattered was that the man stood there with complete legitimacy.
Not like someone passing by.
Like someone who had always been meant to be at this location.
The siren finally drew closer.
The crowd parted.
Voices overlapped, reconstructing the scene.
Jeff steadied himself and rose.
The man stepped aside as well.
Paramedics knelt, checked vitals, exchanged a glance.Procedure followed.A stretcher bag was unzipped. The sound was sharp.
Jeff realized it then.
The issue wasn't response time.
It was sequence.
The process had ended before he arrived.
He looked down at Patch.
The cat met his gaze, pupils narrowed to a thin line.
As if asking—Do we keep going?
Jeff didn't answer.
He simply withdrew his hand and slipped it into his pocket.
People lined up at the coffee shop.Buses stopped on schedule.Traffic lights cycled on time.
When he crossed that intersection again, his pace slowed slightly.
Was he still standing in the same time as everyone else?
Later, a short post appeared online.
Another accident.There have been a lot lately.
The comments pushed it down quickly.
No follow-up.No conclusion.
Life continued as normal.
Only that intersection—
Had already been settled once.