## Chapter 2 – The First Death
The words stayed on my screen long after the glow of my phone should have faded.
**Good. That means the future changed.**
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the message like it might crawl out of the glass and grab me. My hands still smelled like rust from the stair railing. My fingers still burned. Proof that what had just happened wasn't a dream.
The city outside had gone quiet again. The rain had started back up, soft and steady, as if nothing in the world had been disturbed.
Something in my world had shattered.
I set the phone down slowly, like it was a sleeping animal that might bite if I moved too fast. My heart was still racing, each beat echoing in my ears. The room felt smaller now. The walls closer. The ceiling lower.
I had cheated death.
Or maybe—worse—death had noticed me.
I tried to breathe normally. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The way they taught in school, back when life was simple and the biggest fear I had was failing a test instead of a message predicting my end.
The phone buzzed.
I flinched so hard I nearly fell off the bed.
I picked it up with both hands, thumbs hovering over the screen like I was defusing a bomb.
**UNKNOWN NUMBER:** *Want to know who dies next?*
My stomach twisted.
This wasn't a prank anymore. Pranks didn't predict the exact moment my foot would slip on a stair I'd walked down a hundred times. Pranks didn't know the smell of rust in the air or the way my heart would leap into my throat.
This thing—whoever or whatever it was—had watched me.
I typed back before I could talk myself out of it.
**ME:** No.
The response came anyway.
**UNKNOWN NUMBER:** *Riya Patel. 9:03 AM. Bus stop on 4th Street. Hit and run.*
The name hit harder than the first message ever could have.
Riya Patel.
My neighbor.
The girl across the hall with the loud laugh and the messy ponytail. The one who always forgot her keys and knocked on my door, embarrassed and smiling, asking if I'd seen them. The one who said "Good morning!" like she actually meant it.
I checked the time.
**2:36 AM.**
My heart sank.
Six hours.
Six hours to stop something that hadn't happened yet.
I stood up and paced the room, dragging a hand through my hair. The future wasn't supposed to be something you could read like a message on a screen. It wasn't supposed to have names and times and places.
But now it did.
I went to the door and pressed my forehead against the cool wood, listening.
Across the hall, I could hear Riya's faint music through the wall. A muffled beat. A soft voice singing along.
She was alive.
She was laughing.
And according to my phone, she wouldn't be in a few hours.
I slid down until I was sitting on the floor, my back against the door. My phone felt heavy in my hand, like it weighed more than a piece of plastic and glass ever should.
**ME:** Why are you telling me this?
The dots appeared.
They stayed longer this time.
Then the answer came.
**UNKNOWN NUMBER:** *Because you already changed one future. That makes you useful.*
Useful.
Not special. Not chosen.
Useful.
I closed my eyes. Images filled my head—Riya stepping off the curb, a blur of headlights, the sound of metal meeting flesh. My stomach churned.
I couldn't ignore it.
If I did nothing, and she died, I would know. I would always know that I could have tried.
The sky outside my window slowly lightened from black to deep gray. Morning crept in, slow and indifferent.
At **8:00 AM**, I hadn't slept a single minute.
I stood by my door, jacket on, phone in my pocket, heart hammering like it was trying to escape my chest.
The door across the hall opened.
Riya stepped out, headphones around her neck, backpack slung over one shoulder. She smiled when she saw me.
"Morning! You look like you got hit by a truck."
My mouth felt dry.
"Riya," I said, my voice shaking, "don't go to the bus stop."
She frowned. "What?"
"Please," I said. "Just—don't. Take a cab. Call in sick. Go anywhere else. Just not there."
She stared at me for a long second.
Then she laughed. "You're being dramatic. Did you have a nightmare or something?"
She stepped past me.
I followed her, my feet moving before my brain could catch up.
The street was already busy. Cars honked. Vendors shouted. Life moved like nothing terrible was about to happen.
The bus stop came into view.
**9:02 AM.**
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
I didn't need to look. I already knew what it would say.
An engine roared.
I screamed Riya's name.
She turned.
The car swerved.
It missed her by inches and slammed into a streetlight instead. The crash echoed down the street like thunder.
People ran. Someone shouted for an ambulance.
Riya stood frozen, her hands shaking, her face drained of color.
She looked at me.
And in her eyes, I saw the same question I was asking myself.
*How did you know?*
My phone vibrated again.
I looked down.
**UNKNOWN NUMBER:** *Two lives changed. One debt remains.*
The street noise faded into a dull hum.
Because now I understood the truth.
Saving someone didn't end the story.
It just made it darker.
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