The street was a mess. People had gathered, some peering into the wreck, others with their phones out, either recording or trying to call for help. Horns blared as cars struggled to maneuver around the crash site, drivers cursing at the unexpected traffic.
"Is she breathing?" someone shouted.
"She needs to get out of there—the car’s leaking!" another person called out.
A bigger looking man on the situation pulled the door open, ignoring the heat radiating from the engine. "Miss, can you hear me?" He asked, but no response came. Valentina’s body was limp against the seat, blood trickling from a cut near her hairline, and her gut was clenched—she wasn’t waking up, and the truck had long driven away. The rail of the bridge was the only thing holding her and the car from falling and sinking
