CHAPTER 195: CHAPTER 194: LITTLE GIRL

He had no idea how long he sat like that.

Could’ve been seconds. Could’ve been years.

His pulse still thundered in his ears, a frantic drumline against the quiet of his car. It was like his heart hadn’t gotten the memo that it was over. That she was alive. That he was still here.

That had been seconds.

Mere seconds.

But it felt like the Earth had spun off its axis and clawed its way back into place by sheer force of will—and luck.

His fingers hovered over the key for a beat longer before turning it.

The engine clicked off.

And suddenly, the silence grew real, it was thick, eerie, charged with everything that almost happened.

Not the kind of silence that screams, but the kind that settles. Heavy. Honest. Final. The hum of the car died. The music had stopped long ago. All that was left was the soft, irregular rhythm of his breath and the faint clamor outside — the world beginning to resume its pace again.

He leaned back, exhaled once — sharp and shaky.

Breathed in.

Breathed out.

He sat there a moment longer and somehow composed himself,

Then, finally, moved.

The door groaned as it swung open — like it, too, had just come out of shock. boots crunching on the aftermath — broken glass, chipped paint, bits of gravel and fragments of the world that had nearly shattered. A chunk of headlight. A scorched hubcap. The scent of burned rubber still clung to the air, coiling around him like ghost smoke.

The heat of the golden hour had faded into the edge of twilight.

The light had changed. Cars had backed up in both directions, hazard lights blinking, forming an unintentional perimeter around the crash site.

People had started to gather. But fortunately, they weren’t crowding him. Most stood in a loose semi-circle near the other car — wrecked sedan sagged against the bent street pole a few yards away, its hood popped like a broken jaw, smoke curling upward in thin, exhausted ribbons. One tire had burst; the rim leaned on the curb like a crumpled leg, one tire spun slowly, pointlessly, like it hadn’t gotten the message either.

The windshield spiderwebbed into a thousand shimmering veins, the driver inside slumped and unconscious, head hanging at a dangerous angle.

They stood near the wreck — phones out, murmuring, trying to decide if they should get closer.

A woman gasped.

Someone else muttered, "Jesus."

A man shouted for someone to call 911 — not realizing three other people already had.

But Rex’s attention didn’t flicker.

It stayed locked.

Fixed.

On her.

The little girl.

Still on the sidewalk.

Still not moving.

Still clutching that bear so tight it looked like she might vanish if she let go.

She hadn’t run. Hadn’t cried. She just... stood there. Silent, like she was afraid the whole world might collapse if she moved.

She looked like a picture.

A paused scene in a storybook.

Only this wasn’t fiction.

This had almost been tragedy.

Rex’s legs carried him forward, slow and steady, like approaching a scared animal. Not wanting to startle. Not wanting to break the fragile stillness that hovered between them.

She looked smaller up close.

Too small.

Hair tied in lopsided pigtails, socks scrunched down her ankles, her light-up sneakers flickering faintly with each nervous shift of weight. Her cheeks were streaked with dust. There was a faint scrape on one knee, like she’d tripped earlier and no one had noticed.

He crouched slowly to her level, boots grinding gently against the sidewalk.

"Hey," he said, softly. Gently, barely above the breeze. "You okay?"

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.

But her eyes—those impossibly big, glassy eyes—flicked up and met his.

Her wide eyes blinked at him.

Once.

Twice.

Her lips parted slightly. No words came out. Just a whisper of breath.

"It’s okay," he said, trying again. "You’re okay. I promise."

Then slowly, she nodded — a tiny, trembling motion, like a leaf rustling in a still forest.

He saw it then — the way her lip wobbled just a bit, the way her fingers dug into the bear’s worn fur. A quiet kind of panic still swam in her gaze, the kind that sat behind the eyes when the tears were too scared to fall.

She hadn’t processed it yet.

He pulled his cardigan off with one hand and gently draped it over her shoulders. It swallowed her frame, oversized and ridiculous, but warm. Soft. Protective.

"There we go," he murmured, like talking to a scared pet. "You’re okay now. You’re safe."

But she didn’t shrug it off.

She just blinked slowly and leaned, ever so slightly, into the weight of it.

He crouched lower, resting on one knee now.

"You with anyone?" he asked. "Your mom? Dad? Someone nearby?"

She hesitated.

Then a tiny, uncertain shake of the head.

Just held the bear tighter.

A gust of wind passed through — soft, warm, laced with the scent of sun-baked asphalt and the sour remnants of the crash. Her hair fluttered gently in the breeze.

Behind them, the crowd murmured louder.

He turned his back to the noise and moved slightly to block her view of the wreckage. One hand came up slowly, palm facing her, and hovered near her arm.

"Can I hold your hand?" he asked.

For a moment, no response.

Then — the tiniest nod.

Her fingers slid into his palm.

Tiny. Cold. Trembling.

And so very real.

He gave her hand a soft squeeze — the kind that said, You made it. It’s okay now. You’re not alone.

A long breath escaped him. He didn’t even realize he’d been holding it again.

They stood there for a moment — just the two of them, surrounded by noise but untouched by it. In their own fragile bubble of silence and survival.

Then—

Movement behind him.

He turned slightly, gaze flicking toward the crowd — and spotted two familiar shapes cutting through the edge of the chaos.

Kaalan.

And Victor.

His bodyguards.

Their faces were tight with concern, eyes scanning past the chaos straight to him and weaving between stunned drivers and gawking bystanders, moving with urgency.

They’d been a few cars behind him when the light had turned red — close, but not close enough to intervene when the crash unfolded. By the time they tried to move, chaos had already sealed them in: stalled traffic, blocked lanes, a ripple of panic.

Chaos moved faster than protection.

Now they were rushing toward him, expressions taut with alarm.

Rex met their eyes, gave a subtle nod, lifted his free hand and gave a quick signal.

A subtle gesture — low and calm.

I’m okay.

Don’t draw attention.

They paused just a few feet away, scanning him, scanning the girl, and finally the wreck.

Victor’s brow tightened. Kaalan’s jaw clenched — but neither said a word.

They understood.

They paused — just a few feet away now — and held their position.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t rush.

Just stood sentry, eyes constantly moving. Calculating. Protecting from a distance.

Victor’s brow furrowed, a quiet fury simmering in his silence. Not directed at Rex — but at the situation, the risk, the fact that they hadn’t seen it coming.

Kaalan didn’t speak either. Just stood there like a shadow carved from stone, his jaw was clenched, fists tight at his sides — the kind of tension that meant he was already blaming himself. For being too slow. For not stopping it. For letting Rex handle this alone.

(End of Chapter)