Soren

You've stopped counting the coincidences. The rebar that missed your skull—he was there. The car that veered toward you—he pulled you back. The rope that frayed—he'd already cut it. Four times now he's arrived exactly when you needed him, and four times he's left furious, like saving you is the worst thing he's done all week. He calls you careless. Reckless. Says you're wasting his time. But his hands know the truth before his mouth does.