But Jax wasn’t looking for safety. He was looking for something that made him feel alive. The road stretched on, rising and switching back, rising again. Paul and Micah fell still.

At the end of a straight stretch, Jax veered onto the shoulder and slammed the brakes, his tires fishtailing in the gravel.

“Holy shit,” Paul muttered, slumping against the back seat. “You really could use some anger management. Has anybody ever told you that?”

Jax laughed despite himself.

Micah leaned into the windshield, frowning. “Rhodes Overlook, are you kidding me? It’s summer, not to mention nighttime. There’s no way we’re seeing the bear.”

It wasn’t a bear but a bear shadow, one that only appeared in the fall. Months from now, people would flock to this spot from all over, leaf watchers waiting for the sun to dip behind Whiteside Mountain and cast a bear-shaped shadow on the treetops below, rippling branches of red and orange and russet. His mom used to bring him every October.

Jax killed the engine and marched across the road to the outlook.

A flashback, to those late afternoons with his mom. Eating sandwiches and chips out of a cooler in the trunk, standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers on the edge of a lichen-crusted ridge, cameras dangling from their necks. It was something they did every year, just the two of them, a mother-son tradition that lasted until long after he stopped giving a shit about the shadow. Good thing it was dark, because he never wanted to see that stupid bear again.

He stepped over the railing. Jax knew from all the times his mother would pull him back by his shirt that one more foot and the ground would drop out beneath him.

What would happen if he took that step? Just...walked out onto the air? He’d have to crash through the branches and needles first, but eventually he’d hit something solid. At the thought of what that would feel like, blood pulsed through his veins, infusing his organs and bones with life, which was really messed up since the only thing he could think about lately was death. His mother’s. His own. One small step and it would all be over.

Behind him, a car door swung open to a rhythmic dinging.

“Jax, man, come on. Let’s go.” It was Micah’s voice, but Jax knew without looking that those were Paul’s shoes crunching in the gravel. He stopped right behind him, a silent, supportive presence.

What Jax needed was a sign. A butterfly landing on his arm, maybe, or a twinkling in the nighttime sky like his mom winking at him from that fluffy cloud. He looked up, and all he saw was blackness. No stars. No movement. Nothing but Jax, standing at the highest, loneliest point on earth.