Page 79 of The Broken Keys

She doesn’t hear me. Obviously. But I say it anyway, like speaking the words out loud will somehow make them reach her through the distance and metal between us.

Traffic slows as we approach a busy intersection. She’s three cars ahead now. I can see her silhouette through the rear window, sitting rigid with both hands gripping the wheel.

The light turns red. We all stop. One car. Two cars. Then her. Then two more. Then me.

I watch her through the windshields separating us. She reaches up and wipes at her face.

Is she crying?My heart squeezes. I hate seeing her in pain.

The light turns green, and the traffic ahead starts moving. She rolls forward into the intersection.

That’s when I see it.

A massive black SUV coming from the left flies directly toward her. There are no signs of it slowing. I brace myself out of instinct.

“No!” The word rips from my throat, but it’s too late.

The SUV slams into her driver’s side door with a sound that splits the world in half.

Metal screams. Glass explodes in a glittering shower. Her car spins violently to the right, tires screeching against asphalt.

It completes nearly a full rotation before momentum throws it sideways, slamming into a light pole with another sickening crunch.

Then silence.

Everything stops.

My brain can’t process what just happened. The image of her Audi, whole and moving just seconds ago, now sits crumpled and steaming on the edge of the intersection.

My adrenaline kicks in. I throw the car into park and bolt from the driver’s seat without bothering to close the door.

My feet pound against the ground as I sprint toward her car. Other drivers stop, get out, and pull phones from their pockets.

“Call 911!” someone shouts.

“Is anyone hurt?”

“Oh my God!”

I ignore all of it. The only things that exist are her car and the fact that she’s not moving inside.

“Lily!” I reach the driver’s side and grab the door handle.

It doesn’t budge. The frame is crushed inward; the metal warped and twisted. “Livianna!”

I pull harder and throw my weight against it. Nothing. The door is jammed shut, bent too far to open.

Through the shattered window, I see her. Slumpedagainst the deployed airbag. Her head is tilted at an angle, and blood streams from a gash above her eyebrow. Her eyes are closed.

“No, no, no, no.” I’m numb as I reach through the broken window, glass cutting into my forearms. “Baby, wake up. Come on, wake up.”

A sound behind me snags my attention. An engine revs.

I glance over my shoulder just in time to see the black SUV backing up, tires squealing. There’s no license plate. The front bumper is dented, but the vehicle is still mobile.

The driver—a man, maybe forty, with dark hair—stares directly at me for a split second. Then he throws the SUV into drive and speeds away.

“Hey!” I start to rush toward him, but Livianna groans, and my gaze snaps back.