The Night She Fell

The pendant slipped from her hand.

It landed with a faint clink against the cold concrete floor. Silver wings glimmered under the weak hallway light, a cruel reminder of what this night was supposed to be—a moment of quiet courage, not this.

Her knees buckled. Her vision blurred at the edges. The laughter of Hana and her pack echoed somewhere far away, dissolving into a ringing haze as Rose struggled to stay upright.

But the weight of the ruined cake. The knife that had traced her skin. The humiliation still lingering like smoke in her lungs… it all pulled her under.

And so, she fell.

Her cheek hit the floor softly. She curled into herself out of instinct, her breath shallow. For a moment, the world was silent—just the faint hum of an old garage fan and the distant chatter of the party she would never be part of.

Then—

Footsteps.

Not the cruel shuffle of girls who came to torment. No. This was different. Heavier. Determined.

"Rose!"

A voice sliced through the dim corridor like a knife.

She heard it faintly through the fog in her mind. Warm. Familiar. The kind of voice that didn't ask if you were okay—it made you believe you would be.

And then another. Deeper, steadier.

"She's here."

Two tall figures appeared, cutting through the darkness like a storm tearing the night open. The first one knelt beside her immediately. He didn't hesitate, didn't pause to question—he just moved.

His hand brushed her shoulder lightly, testing. She didn't flinch. Didn't stir.

"Rose…" His voice cracked, just slightly. "Hey. Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

His jaw tightened. He exhaled sharply through his nose, trying to stay calm. "Dammit."

The other man crouched beside him, his expression cool but edged with quiet urgency.

"What happened?"

The first didn't answer right away. His eyes scanned her—her trembling fingers, the streak of red icing on her dress, the faint line of pink on her collarbone where a knife had teased too close.

"She was fine when she texted," he muttered, voice rougher now. "What the hell—"

"Not here." The second one's voice was lower, sharper. "We need to move her first."

The first man nodded once, then slid his arms under her carefully, cradling her as though she was made of glass. She was frighteningly light in his hold, her head lolling against his shoulder.

Something metallic glinted near her hand. He reached down, fingers brushing the pendant. Silver wings.

He stared at it for half a second, then tucked it gently into his pocket.

"Let's go," the other man said, already pulling out his phone.

The two moved quickly, their presence filling the empty garage with a tension that wasn't just worry—it was anger restrained, controlled.

"Hospital," the younger one spoke into the phone. His voice was calm but there was steel beneath it. "Private room. Emergency ward. Be ready in ten."

They stepped out of the dimly lit garage into the night air. Outside, the city stretched endlessly, neon lights glowing like a thousand indifferent stars.

A sleek black car waited by the curb. Doors unlocked with a sharp click.

The first man opened the backseat and slid in with Rose still in his arms. The younger one slipped into the driver's seat, the car engine purring to life.

She stirred faintly as the car began moving. A soft sound escaped her lips—barely a whisper.

"Shh," he murmured, holding her closer. "Don't talk. You're safe now."

But her fingers twitched against his shirt, clutching weakly.

"It's okay," he said again, softer this time. "I'm here."

The city blurred past the windows. Streets and signs became streaks of color, the hum of the tires against asphalt filling the tense silence inside the car.

"How long?"

"Seven minutes," the driver answered without looking back. His eyes were sharp, scanning every light, every car ahead.

The one holding Rose stared down at her pale face. He brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek carefully, his thumb lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

"She didn't fall on her own," he said quietly.

"No," came the calm reply. "She didn't."

There was a pause. A silence heavy with unspoken things.

"Who?"

"We'll find out," the driver said. His tone was almost too calm, the kind that promised something colder than rage.

The car made a sharp turn. The lights of the hospital came into view—a tall, pristine building standing like a beacon in the night.

They didn't wait for protocol. The car barely stopped before the younger man jumped out, calling for the waiting nurses. The other lifted Rose again, stepping out with the same quiet urgency he had when he first found her.

Her head lolled against his chest. Her lips parted faintly, a weak breath escaping.

"Stay with me," he whispered. "Just a little longer. We're here."

The nurses rushed forward with a stretcher.

"Pulse stable but faint," one of them said after a quick check. "Shock. Minor bruising. Get her to a private room."

They wheeled her inside, the two men following close behind like shadows that refused to leave her side.

The hospital was sterile, too white. Too quiet. But in that moment, it felt safer than the night outside.

When they reached her room, he set the pendant on the bedside table, its silver glint catching the harsh fluorescent light.

The younger one stood by the door, arms crossed. Watching. Thinking.

"This wasn't random," he said finally.

"No."

"She was on her way to him, wasn't she?"

"Yes."

A pause.

"Then someone knew."

The older one looked at Rose lying pale against the crisp white sheets. His gaze was unreadable, but there was a sharpness there—a dangerous calm.

"They made her fall," he said softly, almost to himself. "They thought she'd break."

The younger one tilted his head, his voice flat. "They don't know her, then."

Silence settled for a moment.

Then the older man straightened, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Find out who was there tonight."

"And when we do?"

His eyes hardened, his tone flat and final.

"They'll regret it."

The room went quiet again.

On the bed, Rose shifted slightly, a faint crease forming on her forehead. Her lips moved as if murmuring something only she could hear.

The pendant glimmered.

Outside the window, the city lights burned on.

---

She didn't know it yet. But this was the night everything changed.

The night she stopped being invisible.

And the night they decided she would never stand alone again.