Sirens changed key—lower, farther. The bridge groaned and settled; a seam in the deck put its palm against itself and held. The generator stuttered and then felt better about its job.
In the church lot, phones buzzed in pockets like wasps. Parents texted where are you and I’m here and found. A notification hopped across my screen—an auto-generated headline with a stock photo: Storm Chaos as Bikers Flood Scene. The subhead talked about “unauthorized responders.” It didn’t mention names.
Before I could be angry, a hand touched my sleeve. The woman with the pizza box roster leaned close and showed me her screen. A short video someone had shot from the bridge—grainy, rain-spattered—June’s arms receiving a child, Doc’s hands steady, Luke’s shoulder braced under a window frame, and—tiny at the edge—Zoe’s lips counting for Liam.
No caption. Just a heart emoji and the words We saw.
