The impact felt wrong.
Not loud.Not dramatic.
Just a subtle, crawling tremor beneath Luke's feet—as if the ship itself had inhaled sharply and decided not to exhale.
The violin kept playing.
Someone laughed nearby.
Champagne glasses clinked.
Luke froze.
Jack Dawson's memories screamed.
Ice.
"This doesn't feel like anything," Rose said, frowning as she steadied herself against the wall.
Luke looked at her.
Really looked at her.
Not as a scene partner.Not as a tragic heroine.
But as a mission that had not yet failed.
"Rose," he said quietly, "we need to go. Now."
She hesitated. "Jack, the ship barely—"
"It hit ice," Luke cut in. His tone wasn't panicked, just certain. "And it's already dying."
Something in his eyes made her listen.
They ran.
Past first-class passengers still debating propriety.Past officers lying through their teeth.Past locked gates Luke kicked open with borrowed fury.
Water poured in below deck, fast and merciless.
Luke felt it then—the Narrative Pressure tightening. The world resisted haste. Doors jammed. Crowds slowed them. Coincidences clustered like obstacles placed by unseen hands.
This story wanted blood.
Luke refused to give it Rose's.
"Women and children only!"
Cal shouted, shoving Rose toward a lifeboat.
Luke stepped back instinctively.
Jack would.
But when Rose leapt back onto the deck, fury blazing—
Luke laughed breathlessly.
"You jump, I jump, remember?"
The line landed perfectly.
The world relaxed.
Just a little.
The stern rose.
The angle became impossible.
People slid screaming into darkness.
Luke wrapped an arm around Rose as the ship split apart with a sound like the sky tearing.
Then—
Black water swallowed them whole.
The cold was immediate.
Violent.
Not pain, but invasion—ice clawing into muscle, lungs seizing, heart hammering too fast.
Luke dragged Rose toward floating debris, vision narrowing, body screaming that this was where Jack Dawson died.
The door bobbed nearby.
That cursed, famous door.
Rose clung to it instinctively, hauling herself up, coughing violently.
Luke grabbed the edge—and stopped.
The world leaned in.
This was the moment it remembered best.
Jack freezing.Rose surviving.Tragedy preserved forever.
Luke exhaled slowly, fighting the instinct to rush.
"Rose," he said gently, teeth chattering, "listen to me."
She shook her head. "Jack, get on—there's room—"
"Not like this."
His hands moved, numb but precise.
"Give me your life jacket."
She stared. "What?"
"I'm not wearing it," he said quickly. "I just need it."
The hesitation almost killed them.
But Rose trusted him.
Luke tied the jacket beneath the door, threading straps through broken wood, fingers guided by instinct rather than feeling. He adjusted weight distribution, calculating buoyancy automatically.
"Now," he said. "Slow."
They climbed together.
The door dipped.
Held.
Luke positioned them carefully—torsos lifted, legs submerged, heat loss delayed by every possible fraction.
Rose stared at him, eyes wide.
"How do you know how to do this?"
Luke smiled weakly.
"I'm good at not dying."
Minutes passed.
Then more.
Luke's thoughts slowed, but he never stopped talking.
About Paris.About riding horses on the beach.About how unfair it was that rich people got lifeboats and poor people got doors.
Rose laughed through tears.
"Jack," she whispered, "don't you dare go to sleep."
He leaned his forehead against hers.
"I'm the luckiest man in the world," he murmured. "I don't get tired that easy."
Lantern light cut through the dark.
A lifeboat.
Luke squeezed her hand.
They were saved.
As dawn broke, Luke stared at the sky.
He didn't feel victorious.
Only… complete.
Somewhere deep within the world, tragedy loosened its grip.
And Jack Dawson finally received a good ending.
[Mission Status: Ongoing]Primary Wish: In ProgressSecondary Wish: Pending — Arrival in America Required
The shipwreck faded.
The horizon brightened.
Ahead—
New York awaited.