Chapter 1: A Life Cut Short
Dylan Trafford stood on the corner of West 42nd Street, tapping his foot impatiently against the cracked sidewalk. The city around him was alive in its usual chaotic hum—people surged in every direction, cars honked in irritation, and the sharp autumn air stung his cheeks. The distant wail of a siren mingled with the clatter of heels on pavement. New York had a pulse, a rhythm of its own, and tonight, it felt like the city was rushing forward while he lagged behind.
His phone vibrated in his hand, pulling his attention from the blur of passing faces. It was a text from Nick, his best friend since high school, the one whose wedding he was supposed to be at in less than an hour.
Nick: You're still coming, right?
Dylan couldn't help but roll his eyes, a smirk curling on his lips. Am I still coming? he muttered under his breath. Nick was about to marry the love of his life, and somehow, in true Nick fashion, he still found time to worry about whether Dylan would show up.
He typed back a quick reply.
Dylan: Yeah, yeah. Best man, remember? Wouldn't miss it for the world.
Shoving the phone into his coat pocket, Dylan checked his watch and grimaced. He was cutting it close—too close. But it wasn't entirely his fault. His side hustle as a game reviewer had kept him up until the early hours again. He'd been locked into another marathon Twitch stream, diving deep into a new indie RPG that one of his followers had submitted. The mechanics were brilliant, the storyline immersive, and the feedback from his audience kept pulling him deeper into the game. Time had slipped away, as it always did when he was lost in his element.
Nick wouldn't understand, of course. For Nick, life was all about structure—family, career, the next rung on the ladder. Dylan? He thrived on passion and discovery. The thrill of uncovering something new, something brilliant hidden in the indie game universe, was what drove him. And he was damn good at it. His followers loved him for it, tuned in for the moments where he found magic in the unpolished and the unexpected.
The pedestrian light flicked to green, and Dylan stepped off the curb, lost in thought about the speech he'd prepared for Nick's wedding. It wasn't long, but it was heartfelt. Nick had been his rock for years, standing by him through every up and down, and today, it was Dylan's turn to show up for him, to honor the man who had always been more like a brother than a friend.
The thought brought a rare, genuine smile to his face—just as the screech of tires ripped through the air.
Instinctively, his head snapped to the right. A car—a black sedan—sped toward him, veering wildly as if the driver had lost all control. The world around Dylan slowed, each detail searing into his mind: the look of terror on the driver's face, the glint of the streetlights off the windshield, the panic rippling through the crowd.
There was no time to react.
The impact was brutal. Metal met flesh in a bone-shattering collision, lifting Dylan off the ground as though he were weightless. For a split second, he was airborne, suspended in a nightmare, before his body slammed into the pavement with a sickening crunch. Pain flooded his senses—sharp, agonizing, but distant, like it was happening to someone else. The world blurred around him, a haze of spinning lights and muffled sounds.
Voices shouted in the distance, their urgency muted by the growing numbness creeping through his body. The cold seeped into his bones, and he found himself drifting, his mind slipping away from the present. Through the fog, his thoughts found Nick again. The wedding. The speech he would never give.
His vision darkened, narrowing to a pinprick of light. Somewhere, far away, the city continued to move, unaware that Dylan Trafford's story was ending far too soon.
Then, there was nothing.