Mai's P.O.V.
The moment Liam's body hit the ground, the world shattered.
His name ripped from my throat, a sound so raw it barely felt like my own voice.
No. No. No.
The metallic scent of blood hit me like ice, sharp and suffocating. Liam lay on the pavement, his limbs twisted unnaturally, his chest frighteningly still. His once-golden hair was soaked in red, spreading across the asphalt like ink spilled on paper.
I scrambled forward, dropping to my knees beside him, my hands shaking as they reached for him. His skin—too cold. His pulse—too faint.
"Baby—" My voice broke. "Liam, wake up! Please!"
Ollie was already beside me, his hands pressing against Liam's chest, his breaths coming in short, panicked gasps.
"He's not—he's not breathing," Ollie stammered, his voice cracking.
I couldn't process the words.
The truck driver, a middle-aged man with wide, horrified eyes, stumbled toward us. "Jesus Christ! I didn't see him—he just—he just—"
I didn't hear him. I didn't care.
