That evening had dragged longer than usual. A customer’s bike had broken down right before closing, and Lucas stayed late helping the owner replace a damaged chain and bent sprocket. By the time the garage lights flickered off and he stepped into the night air, the town had already fallen quiet.
Lucas slung his small tool bag over his shoulder and began the familiar walk toward his apartment. The quickest path home crossed an old iron bridge that stretched over a narrow stretch of the Rio Grande. During the day it carried steady traffic, but after midnight it usually felt abandoned.
The streetlights hummed above him, casting pale yellow pools of light along the empty road. Somewhere far below, the river moved slowly through the darkness.
Lucas had just reached the center of the bridge when the silence shattered.
First came the violent crack of metal.
Then the long scraping sound of something heavy grinding against steel.
Lucas’s head snapped up.
