Tweak had always been the kind of guy who talked a mile a minute, his hands constantly in motion, his cigarette always banced at the edge of his lips like it had a permanent residency there. He had been working with Ezra and Bruiser for most of the summer, showing them the ropes of electrical work—how circuits flowed like veins, how a bad connection could spark a disaster, and how electricity was a patient killer, waiting for the right mistake.

  “The thing about juice,” Tweak had told them one afternoon, standing over a half-assembled breaker panel, “is that it don’t give a damn who you are. You respect it, it respects you. You get zy?” He snapped his fingers. “Lights out. Forever.”

  Ezra had absorbed the lessons eagerly. He had always been fascinated by systems, by how things worked, and wiring felt like building invisible roads for power to travel through. But there was always an edge to Tweak’s lessons, a subtle weariness in his voice. He was the kind of guy who cut corners but never on safety.

  Which was why what happened ter didn’t make sense.

  It had been an ordinary workday. Ezra and Bruiser had spent most of the morning running conduit, feeding wires through the skeleton of what would eventually be a new commercial building. Tweak had been up on the scissor lift, working solo, rewiring an overhead junction box.

  No one thought anything of it.

  Until Ezra walked past the lift.

  At first, he didn’t register that anything was wrong. Tweak was slumped forward slightly, head tilted to the side. It wasn’t unusual to catch him dozing off in weird pces—Tweak was notorious for squeezing in naps during downtime.

  Ezra called up to him. “Tweak! You takin’ your lunch break early?”

  No response.

  His stomach twisted.

  He took a step closer.

  “Tweak?”

  Nothing.

  Then he noticed it—the ck of movement. No shifting, no twitching fingers, no groggy grunt in response. Just stillness.

  Ezra’s chest tightened. “Tweak!” His voice cracked this time.

  Still nothing.

  Then a hand grabbed his shoulder.

  “What’s wrong?” Bruiser’s voice was sharp, alert.

  Ezra turned to him, something tight and awful twisting in his gut. “I—I think something’s wrong with Tweak.”

  Bruiser’s eyes flicked up to the lift, and in an instant, he understood.

  He didn’t waste time asking questions. He ran straight to the emergency controls at the base of the lift, fumbling for the release. The machinery groaned, lowering Tweak slowly, painfully slowly, as Ezra’s hands clenched into fists.

  When the lift touched down, Ezra was the first to reach him. He grabbed Tweak’s arm, shaking him.

  Nothing.

  Then he saw his skin.

  Pale. Too pale.

  A single thought rang through Ezra’s skull like a gunshot—he’s been up there for minutes.

  “Go!” Bruiser barked. “Find someone—now!”

  Ezra didn’t hesitate. He turned and ran, sprinting across the site, his boots pounding against the dirt, kicking up dust. His heartbeat was a drum, loud, deafening, suffocating.

  By the time help arrived, it was already too te.

  The site was shut down.

  The air in the contractor’s trailer was thick with grief and anger, the weight of Tweak’s absence pressing against every man in the room. No one spoke.

  Then, the safety manager stepped forward.

  He was a broad-shouldered man, his face carved from stone, his voice steady—but there was something else in his tone now. Something heavier.

  “I’m not going to waste time lecturing you all,” he said, breaking the silence. “We lost a man today. And it wasn’t because of faulty equipment. It wasn’t because of bad luck.” His eyes swept over them, a slow, piercing gaze. “It was because no one was there to watch his back.”

  Ezra swallowed, his throat tight.

  “Too often, we assume people are fine,” the safety manager continued. “We assume they know what they’re doing, that they don’t need help. We assume that if something goes wrong, they’ll let us know. But sometimes?” He let out a slow breath. “They can’t.”

  The words stabbed into Ezra’s chest like a bde.

  “It takes two,” the safety manager said, his voice lowering. “Two people on every job. Not just for efficiency. For survival.”

  Ezra didn’t realize he was clenching his fists until he felt Bruiser beside him, standing just as still, just as shaken.

  The site was shut down for the rest of the day.

  That night, Ezra sat across from his father in the dimly lit kitchen of Nonna’s house.

  The silence between them was thick.

  Seth, who had always been a steady, unshakable presence, seemed older somehow. More tired. He stared at his coffee for a long time before speaking.

  “You saw it happen?”

  Ezra nodded, staring at the grain of the wooden table. “Not… not the accident. But I found him.” His voice came out hoarse. “Too te.”

  Seth inhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

  Ezra lifted his head, frowning. “What do you mean, ‘yeah’?”

  Seth set his cup down. His hands were steady, but his eyes—his eyes—held something raw. “Because that’s how I found your mother.”

  The words hit like a hammer to the chest.

  Ezra’s breath caught. “What?”

  Seth exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “I wasn’t there when it happened. She overdosed while I was gone. When I came back, she was already…” He trailed off, his fingers gripping his mug tighter. “Just like Tweak. Too te.”

  Ezra felt his pulse pounding in his ears. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  His father’s jaw tensed. “Because what good would it have done? You were a baby, Ezra. You wouldn’t have understood.”

  Ezra swallowed the lump in his throat.

  Seth shook his head, staring down at the table. “It takes two people on a job sometimes. To watch each other’s backs. To catch mistakes before they turn into something worse. We were both… messed up when we met. But one of us was too scared to make it work.”

  Ezra’s throat tightened.

  His father let out a slow breath. “That’s why I tell you to be prepared. It’s not just for survival, Ezra. It’s so you don’t look back one day and realize… you could’ve done something sooner.”

  Silence.

  Ezra finally nodded, his chest heavy, his mind turning over the lesson that had been written in tragedy—twice.

  Two people.

  Watching each other’s backs.

  Because sometimes, one wasn’t enough.

  And this time?

  Ezra had no pns to ever be too te again.

  That night, Ezra sat across from his father in the dimly lit kitchen of their home. The aroma of leftover espresso lingered in the air, mixing with the faint scent of burning wood from the old stone firepce. The warmth should have been comforting, but the weight of the day made it impossible to settle.

  Seth leaned back in his chair, staring at his mug as if it held answers he wasn’t sure he wanted to say aloud. He looked… older, somehow. Like time had pressed a little harder on him today.

  “You saw it happen?” he asked finally, his voice quiet.

  Ezra shook his head. “Not… the accident itself. But I found him.” His throat felt dry. “I thought he was sleeping at first.”

  His father inhaled through his nose, exhaling slowly. “Yeah.”

  Ezra frowned. “What do you mean, ‘yeah’?”

  Seth set his mug down, running a hand over his face. He was quiet for a moment, as if picking his words carefully. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady. “Because this isn’t the first time you’ll see something like this, Ezra.”

  Ezra blinked. “What?”

  His father met his gaze, steady, firm—but not unkind. “You’ll see death again. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but life doesn’t stop because you’re not ready for it.”

  The words settled deep, sinking into Ezra’s chest like stones into still water. He wanted to argue, wanted to say I know that already, but the truth was, he didn’t. Not like this.

  Seth exhaled, rubbing a hand over the rough stubble on his chin. “When I was young, I thought being strong meant keeping my head down. Not getting involved. But I’ve learned something, Ezra.” He tapped his fingers against the wooden table, slow and deliberate. “Strength isn’t about what you endure. It’s about what you do when the moment comes.”

  Ezra sat with that for a moment.

  Seth leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You and Bruiser did everything right today. You acted fast. You worked together. You tried. But sometimes, trying isn’t enough.” His expression darkened, not with anger, but with hard-earned understanding. “That’s the part no one warns you about.”

  Ezra swallowed. “So what are you saying? That it doesn’t matter what you do?”

  His father shook his head. “No. I’m saying that you have to do it anyway. Even when it’s not enough. Even when it doesn’t feel fair.” He exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. “You don’t do it because you expect to win every time. You do it because someone has to.”

  Ezra’s hands curled into fists against his p. “And what if you fail?”

  Seth’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then you make damn sure you learn from it. Because failure’s only a waste if you don’t take something from it.”

  Ezra let that settle in. The truth of it was uncomfortable, but real.

  They sat in silence for a moment, the vents in the room humming softly.

  His father shifted, voice softer now. “You asked me once why I push you to be prepared.”

  Ezra nodded. He remembered.

  Seth leaned back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before looking back at him. “Because one day, it’ll be you making the calls. Someone will look to you, needing an answer. And in that moment? You can’t freeze.” He let the words hang. “So you practice now. You prepare now. You get in the habit of paying attention, of acting, not hesitating.”

  Ezra exhaled, his fingers running along the edge of the table.

  Seth tapped his knuckles against the wood once, finality in the movement. “What happened today is going to stick with you. And that’s not a bad thing.” His gaze softened, just slightly. “Just make sure it teaches you the right lesson.”

  Ezra nodded, the weight of the words settling deep into his chest.

  He wouldn’t forget.

  Not this time.

  Not ever.