It was late. The kind of late where the city lights blurred into smears of gold and red, and the bridge stretched ahead like a ribbon of wet asphalt disappearing into darkness.

Her shift at the bar had run long. Again. Her feet ached, her eyes burned, and the only thing on her mind was the stack of cash tucked into her apron pocket—another step closer to the apartment she'd been dreaming about for months.

The bridge was mostly empty at this hour. Just a few scattered headlights cutting through the rain.

That's when she saw it.

The car ahead of her—a sleek sedan, maybe twenty feet ahead—began to drift. Slowly at first, like the driver had simply taken their hands off the wheel for a moment.

Then it swerved. Hard.

Y/n's fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

What the—

The sedan corrected itself for a split second, then swerved again, this time clipping the lane divider with a screech of metal.

Y/n eased off the gas, her heart starting to pound.

They're going to—

The words died in her throat as the car veered sharply to the right, tires screeching against wet concrete. It slammed through the metal barrier with a deafening crunch, and for one horrible, frozen moment, the sedan hung there—suspended over the dark water below.

Then it dropped.