Malik sat on the couch of his small apartment, his swollen ankle wrapped in ice. The adrenaline had worn off, replaced by pain—and disappointment. His phone screen showed an unread email from Hayes Global confirming his missed appointment.

His aunt, Clara, stood by the kitchen counter, shaking her head. “You risked your life for someone else’s child, and what did you get? A twisted ankle and no job.”

Malik gave a small smile. “She’s alive, Aunt Clara. That’s enough for me.”

“You can’t eat ‘enough for me,’” she muttered, though her voice softened.

As night fell, Malik opened his damaged folder. The resume was torn, some pages stained from the street. He sighed, leaned back, and stared at the ceiling. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.

Across the city, in a luxurious penthouse, Eleanor Hayes sat beside her sleeping daughter, Sophie. She replayed the scene over and over in her mind—the stranger’s bravery, the terror she’d felt, the sound of the bus tires screeching.