The night smelled of rain.
Harvey Brunhild sat in the back seat of his father's black sedan, forehead pressed against the window as the neon city lights smeared across the glass. He wasn't really watching the streets—just letting the blur distract him. Tomorrow was his exam, and he had barely studied. His mother had scolded him earlier, but the warmth in her voice never lasted long before it melted into laughter.
"Don't let him fool you," she said now, pointing at Harvey's father, Daniel, who was mid-story about his reckless teenage days. "He was just as bad in school. Worse, actually."
Daniel chuckled, his deep voice filling the car like a familiar song. "True. But I turned out fine, didn't I? Built a company, raised a family. And now this boy—" he glanced at Harvey through the rearview mirror, his blue eyes glinting, "—he'll carry the Brunhild name farther than I ever did."
Harvey shifted, embarrassed but secretly proud. "If I pass the exam first," he muttered.
The car filled with laughter. For a moment, it felt like time itself had slowed—like the world outside didn't matter.
Then headlights cut across the road.
Too fast. Too close.
"Daniel!" his mother screamed.
The black SUV slammed into them with bone-crushing force. Metal screamed. The world spun. Glass shattered into a thousand stars. Harvey's body slammed against the seatbelt, air punched from his lungs. His ears rang as the car rolled, steel groaning and tearing apart around them.
The chaos stopped as suddenly as it began.
Smoke filled the crushed cabin. Rain pattered faintly through the broken windshield. Harvey blinked through blood stinging his eyes. His head throbbed. His breath came in ragged gasps.
"Dad?" His voice cracked. "Mom?"
Silence.
His father's body was slumped over the wheel, blood trailing from his forehead. His mother's hand dangled lifelessly between the seats, fingers still warm but unmoving.
"No…" Harvey fumbled forward, shaking her shoulder, then his father's. "Please, wake up. Please!"
The only reply was the hiss of leaking fluids and the soft tick… tick… tick of something metallic against the floor.
Harvey's shaking hand reached down. His fingers closed around the object.
A silver watch. His father's. The glass face was cracked, frozen at the moment of impact.
The world blurred through tears. His chest tightened so violently he thought it would shatter like the glass around him.
That was when he saw him.
Through the haze of smoke and rain, a tall figure emerged. A long black coat clung to his shoulders, dark hat brim shadowing his face. He crouched by the broken frame, calm as if the wreckage was nothing but scenery.
"You're still alive," the man said. His voice was low, steady, carrying no pity. Just fact.
Harvey tried to speak, but blood choked his throat. "Help… help my parents—"
"They're gone."
The words hit harder than the crash itself. Cold. Final.
Harvey shook his head violently. "No, no, they're not, they can't—"
The man's gaze was sharp, like steel piercing through the smoke. "This wasn't an accident."
Harvey froze. His breath hitched. "What… what do you mean?"
"They wanted your family gone," the man said simply, as if reciting a truth written long before tonight.
Before Harvey could ask, before he could beg for answers, the man stood. With a sweep of his coat, he turned into the shadows, disappearing as silently as he had arrived.
Sirens wailed in the distance, faint but growing louder. Blue and red lights reflected off the rain-slick asphalt, approaching fast.
But all Harvey could hear was the man's voice, echoing in the hollow space inside his chest.
They wanted your family gone.
He clutched the cracked silver watch to his chest, tears blinding him, as paramedics swarmed the wreckage. Hands dragged him free, lights blinded him, voices barked orders—but none of it mattered.
His parents were dead. His world was broken.
And somewhere in the darkness, someone had wanted it this way.