The lights were dim in the corner of the motel room, casting long shadows over the peeling wallpaper. Mark, Cole, and Leah sat close, knees brushing, backs against the wall. The television was on mute, cycling through a late-night infomercial, but none of them were watching.
No one spoke at first. The air hung heavy with silence and memory.
Leah clutched Julian's hoodie to her chest. She hadn't let go of it since his death. It still smelled like him — citrus shampoo and the faint scent of smoke. Her fingers twisted into the fabric like she could bring him back through touch.
"I keep hearing it," she said quietly. "The sound of the cans falling. The scream. The crunch. It keeps playing in my head like… like a loop I can't stop."
Cole glanced down at the floor. Mark stared blankly at the flickering TV.
"It's worse," she continued, "because we were fighting before we went to the store. I told him to grow up. That I was tired of him acting like we had time. And now…" She bit her lip hard. "Now he's gone, and I wasted our last hour being mad at him."
Mark finally looked at her. "You couldn't have known, Leah."
"No. But maybe Death did. Maybe it wanted me to be stuck with that."
Cole sighed. "That's how it works, doesn't it? It doesn't just kill. It hurts. First your head. Then your heart."
A long silence followed.
Then Cole cleared his throat. "I didn't say anything earlier, but I used to work construction. My brother and I ran our own little company. One day I forgot to inspect a scaffold bracket. Just one bolt. I was tired. Hungover. I thought it'd hold."
He paused.
"It didn't."
Leah and Mark stared.
"He fell four stories. Cracked his head on the concrete like an egg. I watched it happen."
Cole didn't cry. He just stared at his hands like they were someone else's.
"I haven't picked up a wrench since."
Mark finally spoke. "I used to think my visions were a curse. But now… maybe they're a punishment."
Leah blinked. "Why?"
"When I was younger, my little sister drowned in a lake near our house," Mark said. "I was supposed to watch her. I turned my back for two minutes. That's all it took."
His voice was cold. Numb.
"My visions started after that. Like someone shoved Death into my head and left the door open. I thought I could use them to help people. But every time I tried, they didn't believe me. Or they died anyway."
Mark looked up at the ceiling, like it might answer for him. "So what's the point of seeing what I can't stop?"
Leah reached out, placed her hand on his.
"Maybe this time is different," she whispered. "You saved us. You really did."
Cole nodded. "And now we have to keep saving each other. Because Death's not done."
He leaned forward, eyes serious.
"Maybe it kills the ones who try to run. Maybe it plays with those who stay. But if we stick together — actually stick — maybe we can do what no one else did."
Mark met his eyes. "Break the pattern."
Leah nodded slowly. "We owe it to the ones we lost."
Another beat of silence.
And then Cole held out his hand.
"No more secrets," he said.
Mark placed his hand over Cole's.
"No more guilt," he added.
Leah set hers on top, Julian's hoodie still in her lap.
"No more dying."
For a moment, the storm outside rattled the window — wind, water, branches scraping the glass like fingernails.
But inside, for the first time since the massacre at the water park, there was warmth. Connection.
A small fire in the cold.
But somewhere beyond the glass…
Death was still watching.
And it had not forgotten their names.