Alex woke to the harsh buzz of his cracked phone vibrating on the nightstand. For a moment, he lay still, staring at the ceiling of his small rented apartment. The light leaking in through the blinds was thin and gray, the kind that made everything look colder than it already felt. He blinked hard, trying to push through the heavy fog in his head. Sleep had been shallow again, dreams of servers and voice logs whispering his name had chased him into morning.Another buzz. Another notification. He reached over, thumb shaking slightly, and pulled the phone to his chest. The brightness stabbed his eyes. On the lock screen, one message stood out:BANK ALERT: ACCOUNT TEMPORARILY FROZEN. CONTACT SUPPORT.He sat up fast. His ribs tightened like wires pulled taut. He tapped the notification, waiting for the banking app to load. It took longer than it should have; the phone was old, bought second-hand last week when he’d sold his last luxury devices. When the app finally opened, a red banner st

Morning crept in slowly, pale and watery, slipping through the blinds like someone too afraid to enter the room. Alex woke on the couch with his neck stiff and his clothes still damp from the rain. His phone lay on his chest, the unknown warning message still glowing on the screen. They’re coming. He swallowed hard, the words pulsing in his mind like a heartbeat. He tried to steady himself, but the edges of his thoughts felt sharp and scattered. He sat up. The apartment was quiet, too quiet. The fridge hummed weakly. The broken light flickered again. Somewhere outside, a dog barked, then fell silent. The air inside the room felt stale, thick with yesterday’s fear.Rent due. Accounts frozen. No money. Eviction imminent. Danger somewhere in the shadows. He rubbed his face with both hands. He needed to think. He needed to act. He needed a job, any job. Even a few hours of pay could buy him time. A day. A meal. Something. He stood, grabbed his laptop from the table, and opened it. The hin

Alex awoke to cold air against his skin. His mind felt slow, as if someone had filled it with wet sand. He tried to lift his head, but it throbbed with a sharp, punishing ache. For a moment he lay still, confused, trying to remember where he was or how he’d gotten there.Then fragments returned, he remembered a woman speaking with him and a man standing in the dark. He touch himself to be sure he wasn’t dead. He was lying on his side in a small, dimly lit room, wrapped in a blanket that smelled of detergent and lavender. A thin line of morning light leaked through a cracked door. Somewhere outside, he heard quiet voices, footsteps, the clink of metal carts, soft, calm sounds that felt completely out of place with the chaos inside his chest. He tried again to lift his head. The room spun.“Easy,” a warm voice said.He hadn’t noticed her sitting in the chair at the foot of the bed. She leaned forward now, her face half-lit by the light through the doorway. Her brown hair was tied back s

The hallway noise grew louder as Alex swung his legs over the side of the bed. His feet touched the cold floor, and a sharp chill ran up his legs. His body protested every movement, but his mind was sharper than it had been since the bridge, raw, fragile, painfully awake.He pushed himself upright and grabbed the wall for balance. His head throbbed, and for a second, the room tilted. He squeezed his eyes shut until the dizziness passed. More voices echoed urgently down the corridor.“Hold him steady, watch his arms!”“He’s trying to hit the staff, get Dr. Morris!”“Clara, step back!”Alex’s chest tightened. Clara. His pulse picked up, something like adrenaline, or fear, flickering through him. He forced himself toward the door, using the wall as support. Every step felt like wading through thick mud. When he reached the doorway and pulled it open, bright light flooded his eyes. The hallway stretched out in a blur of movement. Two nurses wrestled with a man thrashing on the floor, his

Alex didn’t sleep.He drifted in and out, body shaking, mind racing, the edges of the room bending in and out of focus. Each time he closed his eyes, the message replayed:If he doesn’t jump tonight, he won’t get another chance.By morning, he was tired. His limbs felt bruised from the inside. His thoughts were thick, slow, but sharp enough to cut him open when they drifted to the bridge. Someone tapped his door, knocking. Dr. Morris stepped inside without waiting for an answer. She carried a clipboard and a mug of coffee.“Morning, Vale.” Her voice was flat, but not unkind. “How’s your head?”He rubbed his temples. “Like someone filled it with sand and lit it on fire.”“Good,” she said. “Means you’re detoxing.”He blinked at her. “That’s your definition of good?”“It means you’re still alive.” Dr. Morris scribbled something on her clipboard. “Vitals look stable enough. You’re joining group therapy in fifteen minutes.”“I’m not...” He paused as dizziness washed through him. “I’m no