"Hey, Aaron."

Leo caught up to Aaron in the back street, concern clouding his face. He slipped out of the drunk girl's body and back into his invisible self.

"We saw you rush out earlier," Ray added, also in soul form. "You okay?"

"Guys, look," Aaron pointed across the street, gasping. "Someone's in danger!"

"Huh? Oh God!" Leo clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. "She could die!"

The three stared at the staggering girl—like the next victim in a Final Destination movie. Midnight pressed in around them, silent and merciless. Inside the soundproof club behind them, the ecstatic crowd danced on, oblivious. Out here, only three ghosts watched death inch closer.

"Still no order?" Leo's eyes darted from the girl to the pitch-black sky. "There must be a request for her by now."

"I'll call HQ—" Ray pressed his earpiece, throat dry.

He never got the chance.

With a sickening screech, the iron beam tore free from its hanger. Nothing held it back now.

"Forget it!" Aaron shot forward like lightning.

"Aaron! Wait!" Ray shouted after him, but too late. Leo froze in terror, his scream caught in his open mouth.

The world slowed to a heartbeat. Time shrank until there was only Aaron and the girl—no sky, no street, no one else. Just her.

At the last split second, she looked up. A flash of light caught in her eyes—and then everything shattered.

The beam slammed down with a brutal crunch, metal grinding against concrete.

The street filled with stunned onlookers. Horrified screams broke the silence. Some caught a glimpse and thought the poor victim was crushed beneath the wreck.

Ray dropped to his knees from across the street.

"Ahhh..." Leo sobbed into his trembling hands, unable to look. "Nooo..."

"He won't die," Ray's voice was low, steady, though his face had gone pale. "Not again, at least. And look—the girl's alive."

Leo peeked. Dust and debris hung thick in the air. Out of the haze, two shapes emerged—clinging to each other, clinging to life.

Aaron collapsed on all fours, panting, vision spinning, head ringing. His fingers flickered in and out like a candle about to burn out. Every breath scraped shallow, like a red alarm beeping low battery.

"Cough—cough!" The girl stirred, pulling herself up on shaky arms. No blood. No broken bones. Her hair tangled, her breath ragged, but alive.

Aaron watched her through his haze, gaze sharp with judgment. Some careless kid. The kind that has zero awareness. He knew the type too well.

"Here you are—thank goodness!" Leo threw his arms around him, nearly squeezing out what little soul energy he had left. Ray stood over them, expression grim.

"You scared the sh*t out of us!" Ray's unusual curse stunned both his teammates. Then he exhaled. "Never mind. Let's get out of here."

They hauled Aaron to his feet. None of them spared the girl another glance. She couldn't see them anyway.

Or so they thought.

"Thank you—for saving me!"

They froze as one.

Aaron blinked, sure exhaustion was tricking him. But the girl walked straight toward him, cheeks still flushed, breath reeking of alcohol, yet eyes glowing with certainty.

"Without you, I'd be dead." She seized his hands, concern plain in her voice. "You don't look well—are you hurt?"

Her touch jolted through him like foreign electricity.

"No way in Heaven!" Leo flailed a hand in front of her. No reaction. "She sees you—only you, Aaron!"

"She can even touch you!" Ray's voice cracked.

Silence. Heavy, bewildered.

Aaron opened his mouth, but no words came.

"Hope! Are you okay?"

Another girl rushed in, unaware she had just saved three souls from a crisis.

"You said you went out to sober up! What are you doing here? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, Polly." Hope shook her head quickly, then glanced behind her. "Thanks to him..."

Polly followed her gaze—at empty air.

"Who?"

The night answered with nothing but the moan of rusty beams in the wind.

"Oop!" Hope bent over, covering her mouth, the drunken nausea returning.

"You are wasted! Come on, it's not safe here." Polly dragged her away.

___

What happened on that sidewalk last Friday night already felt like history to Hope.

By Monday morning, she was back to life as usual—squeezed into a crowded bus, coffee in hand, nerves braced for another week of battles.

Out-of-nowhere incidents haunted her so often, she hardly had time to dwell on them. Life was merciless. Reflection could wait.

Here it was—her manager's office, chilling as always.

Phillip's cold eyes pinned her the moment she stepped in. Around the round table, Polly shot her a warning look.

"You left in the middle of a client meeting, Hope?" Phillip's voice was sweet—only for his superiors and clients. For his team, it was razor-sharp. "I had to apologize for you, even had to drink your share."

Hope's stomach sank. Phillip's so-called meetings always turned into bar-hosting sessions, his subordinates forced to be his alcohol shields. Anyone unable to hold the line for him was doomed as "deserters."

"I'm sorry." She bowed her head. "I was too drunk. I almost had an accident—"

She glanced at Polly for support. Her ally tried to speak. "That's right—"

"Well, sorry to you then, for expecting effort." Phillip's voice lashed through the room, shoving Polly back into silence. The team went quiet as Phillip launched into one of his usual tirades.

"We are the sales department, not a charity. We have a target to reach, and if we don't deliver, we're out! Look at the time—September's just around the corner! So, how's your progress? Starting with you, Tony—what's your problem?"

Everyone gave their quick reports like crime confessions, while Phillip ranted on from questioning professionalism to personal criticism.

"Back in my day, salesmen had to corner prospects in the toilets just to close a deal. You guys have it too easy now. Someone even had the nerve to turn tail right in front of a Key Account!"

Hope didn't need to look up. Phillip's allusion was needling straight through her.

By the time the meeting ended, the sales team filed out like battered soldiers.

"Father Phil at it again," Polly muttered bitterly, pouring another cup of coffee. "Still wants to be a priest after retirement, can you believe it?"

"Well, he sure could talk," Hope dropped into a cafeteria chair. "Sorry about Friday. Did you have to cover me?"

"It's fine. You can't drink anyway—you'd have just passed out." Polly's face darkened. "That client was throwing you dirty looks the whole night, though. When you left, he threw a tantrum. Phil brought you along to please his gold mine, then took it out on you to cover himself. He's no better."

Hope sighed, gaze drifting to a cockroach flailing on its back nearby. "I can't blame him. The pressure, the quotas, the competition. I should be grateful he even lets me tag along."

"Not us enslaving ourselves to capitalism, girl." Polly groaned into her cup. "But who am I to say? I'm literally an alcohol shield myself."

Hope only smiled weakly, flipping the cockroach upright before heading back to her desk. The insect scuttled away without a glance back.

___

"What? There was no request?"

Aaron clutched the white marble reception desk as if it was his lifeline. He'd spent the weekend bedridden, only to drag himself here, desperate.

"Impossible! Please check again!"

Helen, the receptionist, sighed but searched anyway. "I'm sorry, Aaron. No request was filed to save Ms. Rufford."

"Then her blessings—her inheritance—there must be some left. I need energy," he whined like a junkie asking for drugs.

Helen's regret deepened. "She has none."

"What do you mean?" Aaron blinked. "None at all?"

"Yeah," Helen looked closer at her screen, frowning. "Even orphans inherit blessings from their ancestors. It's rare to have zero."

Aaron's head throbbed. His faint hope scattered. "Wait, how on earth could she live until now, then?"

"She only survived from blind Storage donations—or from agents like you, saving her by chance." Helen lowered her voice. "But as you already know, saving someone with no blessing costs more than most agents can bear."

Aaron sighed, shoulders collapsing. He turned, dragging his flickering self away.

Helen watched him go, her own sigh following.

___

Meanwhile, Hope's life carried on.

It was just another ordinary day—ending with her dangling from the fourth-floor rooftop of her boarding house. The night breeze whipped through her hair, the dizzying height making her vision blur.

She swallowed and looked up.

Only one thing kept her from falling.

A hand. Holding tight. But trembling.

"Help!" Hope screamed, her grip slipping away.

"Damn it—my shift's over, Miss!"

Aaron's face appeared in the dark, twisted with panic and fury. His body arched like a straining bridge over the concrete edge.

His cry was raw, his mind distraught. "What the hell's wrong with you?!"