Sophia
When I opened my eyes, I didn’t know if they were actually open.
Everything was… sideways.
There was no up or down. Just pain and a buzzing silence thick enough to drown in.
The airbag had gone off—its smell filled my nose, like burnt plastic and salt. My ears rang. Not a whine, not a tone—just this hollow sound, like I’d been dropped inside a bell tower.
I blinked. My lashes scraped something sticky. Blood?
I tried to lift my arm. It barely moved.
The glass was everywhere. Glittering in the footwell, caught in my hair, buried in my coat. Little shards of starlight that had no business being this close.
“Stanford…”
My voice didn’t sound like mine.
I turned—slowly, too slowly—and saw him slumped forward. Still in the seat, breathing… I thought. I hoped.
“Stanford,” I said
