The pressure didn't arrive.
It crashed.
Evan was sitting on the edge of the bed when it happened—one second empty, the next—
—his lungs forgot how to work.
It was like being shoved underwater.
His spine locked.
His vision burst white at the edges.
"No—"
The word never made it out.
Something crushed inward behind his ribs, invisible hands tightening, tightening, tightening—
Evan slid off the bed. His knees hit first. Then his palms. Then his shoulder.
The floor was freezing.
It burned.
He dragged in air and got nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
His mouth opened soundlessly.
The room tilted.
The camera blinked.
Red. Red. Red.
Too loud.
Too sharp.
Inside his chest, something was building, stacking, compressing—decision over decision over decision—like bones being piled where his heart used to be.
Not now.
It was always slower.
It was always distant.
This was wrong.
This was immediate.
He clawed at the floor like it might hold him in place.
His breathing came in broken shards—short, tearing gasps that shredded his throat.
His fingers trembled violently, useless, curled.
Concrete.
Water.
Wind cutting through thin fabric.
A woman.
Walking.
Unaware.
So close it made him sick.
"No—no—no—"
His body folded in on itself.
Forehead to the ground.
Chest convulsing.
A sound tore out of him—half breath, half sob.
The guard shouted.
Boots rushed.
"Hey! What's wrong with you?"
Evan tried to speak.
His tongue wouldn't move.
His lungs stuttered.
He pointed—weakly, blindly—toward nowhere.
South.
He choked on the word.
"S…south…"
The guard crouched. "What about south?"
"A bridge—"
Air finally ripped into his lungs, too much, painful.
He gasped like he'd been buried alive.
"She's—" breath "—walking—"
Another spasm bent him double.
His vision tunneled.
"If you wait—" he wheezed, "—she dies."
Silence slammed down.
The guard stared.
Evan lifted his head just enough for the camera to catch his face.
Wet eyes.
Gray skin.
Hands shaking so hard they rattled against the floor.
Not mystical.
Not powerful.
Broken.
Terrified.
Human.
"Please," he whispered.
And then his strength gave out.
His forehead touched the floor again.
His breathing came in wrecked, uneven pieces.
The guard swore.
And reached for the phone.
Noah was halfway through signing paperwork when the call came.
Urgent. Unfiltered.
"Detective Knox, we have your… consultant. He's collapsed. He's saying something about a bridge. A woman. South side."
Noah was already moving.
"Which bridge?"
"He's barely coherent."
"I'm on my way."
The pen dropped.
Noah didn't notice.
He grabbed his jacket, his keys, his gun.
The car screamed out of the station.
Streetlights blurred into long golden wounds.
His hands were steady.
His chest was not.
If you wait—she dies.
Traffic lights were ignored.
Rules bent.
Noah's mind mapped the city in fractures—bridges, rivers, shadows, distance.
South.
Wind.
Concrete.
He called it in.
Units scattered.
Sirens bloomed like broken prayers.
They found her on Harrow Bridge.
Small.
Blue coat.
Phone in her hand.
Standing too close to the edge.
A man stood behind her.
Quiet.
Ordinary.
His hands already rising.
Noah didn't think.
He shouted.
The world split.
The man ran.
The woman screamed.
Hands pulled her back.
She collapsed into sobs against the railing, alive, shaking, real.
Cuffs snapped shut somewhere.
The city breathed again.
But Noah couldn't.
Not yet.
He returned hours later.
The holding wing was dim.
Smelled like disinfectant and old fear.
Evan sat on the floor of his cell.
Back against the wall.
Knees drawn to his chest.
A blanket around his shoulders like an apology that came too late.
His face was empty of color.
His eyes too large.
Noah stopped at the bars.
Didn't speak.
Didn't trust his voice.
Evan looked up slowly.
"You stopped him."
It wasn't a question.
Noah nodded once.
"She's alive."
Evan closed his eyes.
A sound left him.
Not relief.
Something deeper.
Something ruined.
His shoulders shook.
Silently.
Violently.
"I couldn't breathe," he said hoarsely. "It felt like dying inside someone else's decision."
Noah swallowed.
"You don't have to do this."
"Yes," Evan whispered. "I do."
"For what?"
Evan looked at his hands.
Still trembling.
"So it hurts me instead of them."
Noah gripped the bars.
His knuckles went white.
For the first time, he didn't see a suspect.
He saw a man being slowly crushed by knowledge no human body was built to hold.
And for the first time—
He was afraid of what saving lives was costing Evan.
And of how much more it would take.