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“Pierce!” Rhiannon screamed, her voice nearly lost in the deafening roar of the quake.
He dropped to his stomach, ignoring the bite of jagged concrete, and grabbed Dean’s flailing wrist. The other man’s weight nearly yanked him over the edge, but he dug in and held on. Muscles straining, teeth gritted with effort, he started to haul Dean up, inch by hard-fought inch.
Another violent jolt ripped through the floor.
Dean stared up, eyes wide with shock as his hand slid from Pierce’s grip. Time seemed to slow down. Pierce reached for his other hand, but it was too late. He vanished into the crevasse. His scream cut off abruptly, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.
No.
Pierce stared into the darkness, his chest heaving, hand still outstretched.
The aftershock subsided as suddenly as it had begun, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. Dust hung thick in the air. Rhiannon coughed as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him away from the edge.
Somewhere far away, he heard a woman shouting hysterically. “Oh my God. Oh my God, he’s gone. He’s just... gone.”
Vaguely, he realized the hysterics were from Alan’s wife, Lori, and her husband was doing little to defuse the situation. Her face was ashen as she stared at the jagged fissure that had swallowed Dean whole. Her boys clung to her, their small faces streaked with tears and dust.
“Pierce.” Rhiannon cupped his face, drawing his gaze back to her, and stroked his cheeks with her thumbs. “Hey. You did everything you could. It’s not your fault.”
He blinked and focused on her dirty face, her words barely registering through the haze of shock and guilt. His hands moved almost of their own accord, forming the signs for“My fault”over and over.
Rhiannon gripped his wrists, stilling his movements. “No,” she said firmly, holding his gaze. “You tried to save him. We both did. This is not on you.”
He swallowed hard, wanting desperately to believe her but unable to shake the feeling that he should have done more, been faster, been stronger. He should have been able to save him. That’s what he was trained for, wasn’t it? To protect people, to be a hero. But when it mattered most, he had let Dean slip through his fingers, literally.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips, drawing concerned looks from the others huddled in the ruined lobby. Hero. What a joke. He was no hero. He was the farthest thing from it.
Lori’s sobs grew louder. ”This is all your fault,” she screamed, pointing an accusing finger at Pierce. “You let him fall! You could have saved him!”
Alan wrapped an arm around his wife’s shaking shoulders, but his eyes were hard as they met Pierce’s. “She’s right. You had him. I saw it. And then you just... let go.”
Pierce shook his head vehemently, his hands moving in a flurry of signs.
Rhiannon stepped forward, placing herself between them. “It was an accident. He tried, but Dean slipped. No one could have held on.”
“Maybe Pierce didn’t want to hold on,” Alan countered, his jaw clenching. “Maybe this was his plan all along. Get rid of Dean because he was actually making too much sense.” He spun back to face the crowd. “Because maybe he was right! Pierce has been lying to all of us this whole time, keeping secrets. He doesn’t care about any of us! He didn’t care about Dean, and now he’s dead because of it!”
Several of the other survivors had gathered around, watching the scene unfold. Lori, still shaking and sobbing, stared at Pierce like he was some kind of monster, keeping her sons tucked close to her sides. Others, like the retired couple, Ray and Sharon, and Will, the gift shop worker, kept their distance but looked uncertain, their eyes flickering between Alan and Pierce as if weighing the truth in Alan’s words.
Pierce remained silent. What was the point of arguing? They couldn’t understand him without Rhiannon translating, and even if they could, he doubted they’d listen.
And maybe he deserved all of their ire and more. Dean’s terrified scream still echoed in his ears. He thought he’d hear it for the rest of his life.
Rhiannon’s slender frame remained firmly planted between him and Alan. Her chin lifted in defiance. “You’re not thinkingstraight,” she said gently. “Pierce did everything he could to save Dean.”
“You expect us to believe that?” Alan snapped and stepped closer, his voice rising with each word. “You expect us to believe in him when he’s been keeping secrets since day one? What else isn’t he telling us, huh? He knew Gareth before all this, didn’t he?”
Rhiannon glanced back at him, and he saw the quick flash of doubt in her eyes. It was like a knife to the heart, and he glanced away, unable to meet her gaze.
“We all saw them over in the corner conspiring together the other day,” Alan continued and whirled, stabbing a finger in Gareth’s direction. “And why is he healed already? What are you all hiding?”
Pierce raised his hands to respond, but Rhiannon spoke up again before he could. “We’re all in shock right now, but turning on each other is not the answer.”
Still defending him, even though she obviously had doubts, too.
He didn’t deserve her faith, her loyalty. Not when it was built on a foundation of lies and half-truths.
A murmur rippled through the gathered survivors, a mix of shock and growing unease. Pierce saw the doubt taking root, saw the way they looked at him now—with fear, mistrust. As if he was the enemy.
