Mack nodded gently toward the twisted bicycle. “I know that look,” he said. “You’re replaying every second. Wondering what you could have done differently. I’ve been there. And sometimes… even everything isn’t enough.”
The other riders had spread outward now, forming a human shield between Harper and the curious, gawking crowd. Cameras faced leather backs instead of a grieving man. People in the street shifted uneasily, realizing they had been narrating a story of threat that wasn’t there.
Angela “Red” Moreno, a woman of quiet authority, stepped forward from the line. Former trauma nurse, now full-time rider, she placed her hand firmly on Harper’s shoulder. No words. Her presence alone spoke volumes.
“I can still hear her breathing,” Harper murmured, voice breaking, referring to the victim.
Angela nodded. “It never really leaves. But it gets lighter when someone stands with you.”
