Page 2 of Hidden Echoes

But today, I’m still driving. Still gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles ache.

The city lights thin out in the rearview mirror, swallowed by the open road.

It’s been years. Too many. And I still don’t know what the hell I’ll say when I get there. If I get there.

My stomach twists, a tight knot that won’t loosen no matter how many times I breathe through it. I feel it everywhere—shoulders locked, jaw tight, heart pounding a little too fast.

I don’t want to do this.

I flick through my playlist, fingers moving on autopilot. The first notes of Money by Lisa pulse through the speakers, low and electric, crawling under my skin.

A distraction. That’s all I need. The bass thumps, the beat vibrating through my bones, syncing with the nerves tightening my chest. I let it take over, let it fill the spaces I don’t want to think about.

The road ahead blurs at the edges, headlights cutting through the darkness. The music gets louder. My fingers tap against the wheel. My mind drifts—back to old fights, old wounds, old ghosts I don’t want to face.

And then—

A jolt.

The car jerks. A sickening thud echoes through the frame, rattling up my spine. My hands tighten around the wheel, breath catching in my throat.

What was that?

I slow down, heart hammering against my ribs. My pulse is a steady roar in my ears, almost drowning out the music still blasting through the speakers. Almost.

I glance at the mirror.

At first, there’s nothing. Just the empty road, stretching endlessly, swallowed by the night. But then—

A shape.

Pale skin, long black hair spilling over the pavement like ink. A girl. Her clothes are torn, bloodied, a dark stain blooming beneath her. She isn’t moving. No, wait—her chest rises, shallow, uneven. She’s breathing. But she’s not awake.

My stomach drops.

Shit. Shit.

I throw the car into park, hands shaking as I fumble with the door handle.

The night air hits me like ice, but I barely feel it.

My feet move on instinct, gravel crunching beneath my boots as I rush to her side. Up close, she looks even worse—skin too pale under the flickering glow of my headlights, blood smeared across her arms, her legs.

Did I do this?

The music still thumps in the car, a cruel contrast to the silence pressing in around me. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out everything else. I reach into my pocket, nearly dropping my phone with how slick my hands feel.

Charlie.

I hit the call button and press the phone to my ear, my breath coming too fast.She picksup on the second ring.

“What?” Her voice is edged with irritation, like I just woke her up.

“I—I need help,” I manage, voice tight, raw. My gaze stays locked on the girl, on the way her chest barely moves.

“What the hell did you do now?”

I swallow hard. My mouth is dry.

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