I always knew when Lucian was about to do something reckless.
It wasn't the grin. Or the way he leaned forward when he ran. Or even the sparks of mischief that never quite left his eyes.
It was the quiet right before.
Lucian only went silent when he had already decided.
We were halfway down the gravel path toward the front gate when I heard it — the faint rumble of our parents' car rolling farther down the hill road. Tires against asphalt. Engine steady.
Normal.
For a moment.
Lucian slowed slightly, glancing back over his shoulder.
"You're losing," he said.
"I'm not trying," I replied.
"That sounds like losing."
I ignored him and kept running.
The wind rushed past us, carrying the smell of warm pavement and the distant city below the ridge. Our house sat higher than most places around here — high enough that the road curved sharply along the hillside before disappearing into the trees.
Lucian reached the gate first, grabbing the metal bar and swinging around it like it was part of some game only he understood.
"Victory," he declared.
I caught up a second later, slightly out of breath but refusing to show it.
"You cheated."
"How?"
"You started early."
Lucian looked deeply offended.
"That's strategy."
I leaned against the gate, glancing down the road.
The car was already far away now — just a black shape moving between sunlight and shadow as it followed the curve.
Everything looked normal.
But the quiet didn't feel right.
I didn't know why yet.
Lucian climbed onto the lower bar of the gate, balancing like he had earlier on the stone wall. He always liked higher ground. Said it made the world easier to see.
"You think Mom's going to bring food back?" he asked.
"You just ate."
"That doesn't answer the question."
"It's been ten minutes."
Lucian nodded thoughtfully, as if I had made a fair point.
Then he jumped down again.
That was when we heard it.
A sound that didn't belong on that road.
A sharp metallic scream.
The kind of noise metal makes when something fails suddenly and violently.
I straightened.
Lucian froze.
The car appeared again around the bend — faster now.
Too fast.
Something was wrong with the way it moved.
It wasn't controlled.
It was fighting the road.
"Adrian…" Lucian said quietly.
The sedan swerved slightly as it came down the hill, tires skidding for a second before catching again.
My chest tightened.
Our father knew how to drive that road. He'd driven it a thousand times.
The car lurched again.
Then the sound came.
A horrible grinding shriek as the brakes tried — and failed — to catch.
Lucian stepped forward.
I grabbed his arm instantly.
"Wait."
But he was already staring down the hill, eyes wide.
The car accelerated toward the next curve — the dangerous one. The turn that dropped straight toward the guardrail and the steep forest beyond it.
The world seemed to slow.
I could see our mother's silhouette through the windshield.
Our father's hands on the wheel.
Then—
The car hit the curve.
And didn't turn enough.
The impact was deafening.
Metal slammed into the guardrail, bending it outward like paper. For one second — one impossible second — the car hung there at the edge.
Then it went over.
Lucian moved before I could even think.
He tore free from my grip and ran down the road.
"Lucian!"
But he didn't stop.
Of course he didn't.
He never did.
I ran after him, my heart pounding harder with every step, the sound of twisted metal echoing through the valley below us.
Smoke was already rising from the crash site by the time we reached the broken guardrail.
Lucian dropped to his knees at the edge.
I arrived seconds later and looked down.
The car had landed halfway down the slope, crushed against the trees, the front end completely destroyed.
Glass glittered everywhere.
The engine hissed.
Something burned.
Lucian didn't hesitate.
He started climbing down.
"Lucian, wait!" I shouted.
"It's Mom and Dad!"
"I know!"
But the ground was steep, unstable, dangerous. Rocks shifted beneath our feet as we descended. Branches snapped. Dirt slid away under our weight.
Lucian moved like gravity didn't exist.
Like fear didn't either.
By the time I caught up, he was already near the wreck.
Smoke curled from the hood.
The driver's side door was crushed inward.
The windshield shattered.
Lucian reached the car first.
"Dad!" he shouted.
No answer.
He grabbed the door handle and tried to pull it open.
It didn't move.
I reached him just as he tried again, harder this time.
"Help me," he said.
I grabbed the edge of the twisted frame.
Together, we pulled.
Metal groaned.
But it wouldn't give.
Lucian's breathing became sharp.
Desperate.
"Come on!"
The smell of burning oil filled the air.
Somewhere inside the car, something cracked loudly.
Lucian slammed his fist against the door.
"Dad!"
Still nothing.
Then Lucian stepped back suddenly, looking under the car — scanning it quickly like he was searching for something.
Something specific.
Something that made his expression change.
"What?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he tried the door again.
Harder.
And harder.
But it was already too late.