“I’m dead,” Noah Warholm whispered as he pulled into the gas station, the engine of his beat-up sedan rattling as it idled. The dashboard clock glowed 11:47 PM. He should have been home by now, collapsed on his lumpy mattress, trying to ignore the faint smell of mildew coming off from the apartment walls.

  His feet ached from standing all day at his day job, and his back was stiff from hours of driving around delivering food for his second job. Yet here he was, staring at the gas pump, half-asleep but content.

  He didn’t need to fill up tonight. The tank was one-third full—enough to get him through tomorrow. But tomorrow wasn’t just any day; it was the day he’d been working toward for months. He had a meeting scheduled with a prospective big client, the kind of client who could change everything. If he closed this deal, he could quit his two miserable jobs and stop feeling powerless.

  No more dealing with customers who yelled at him over cold fries or late deliveries that were not his fault. No more watching his boss take credit for his hard work. He could move out of his cramped apartment, away from loud roommates who ate his food. He could even put a down payment on a house and start living the life he’d always wanted—a life where he had control, where he had the power to do as he pleased.

  He reached into the left pocket of his jacket and brushed his thumb over the cool, smooth gold surface of his watch. It felt heavy, reassuring. The watch didn’t work—hadn’t worked in years— but it had belonged to his dad. His gramps had gifted it to his dad when Noah was born, back when they were still happy, before everything fell apart. It was the only thing he hadn’t sold when times got tough. He couldn’t. It was the one thing that made him feel like maybe, one day, he could be someone his dad would’ve been proud of—if he were still here.

  He sighed, his breath fogging in the chilly night air, and got out of the car. The pump clicked as he started filling the tank, the smell of gasoline sharp and invigorating. He leaned against the car, watching the numbers tick up on the screen. He was tired, bone-tired, but there was this flicker of something else too. Hope, maybe. Tomorrow could be the start of something new. He could feel it, like a shift in the air, like the future he always wanted was finally within reach.

  When the tank was full, he headed inside the convenience store to pay. The bell above the door jingled, and the clerk behind the counter didn’t even look up from his phone. The store was quiet, just a couple of other customers—a guy in a hoodie grabbing a bag of chips, a woman in scrubs flipping through the magazines by the door. Noah stepped up to the counter, pulling out his wallet, when the door jingled again.

  He glanced over, and his stomach dropped. A man in a black ski mask burst in, a gun in one hand and a bag in the other. "Everybody down!" the man shouted, his voice sharp and jagged, as if he were wound too tight. "Wallets, phones, jewelry—now!"

  Noah froze, his wallet halfway out of his pocket. The clerk dropped his phone, hands shaking as he raised them. The guy in the hoodie hit the floor, the bag of chips crunching under him. The woman in scrubs backed up, her magazine slipping from her hands and fluttering to the ground. Noah’s heart slammed against his ribs, his mind racing.

  This can’t be happening. Not now.

  The robber swung the gun around, pointing it directly at the clerk. “Open the register, now!” he barked. The clerk fumbled with the buttons, his trembling fingers struggling to comply. Noah’s eyes darted to the door, but the robber was too close, blocking the only escape route. He could feel the weight of the pocket watch in his jacket, pressing against his left side.

  When the drawer finally jolted open with a dull thud, the robber slammed the bag against the clerk’s chest with force. “Put everything in the bag.”

  Pale and trembling, the clerk fumbled with the bag, stuffing all the money inside. Then, he stumbled around the store, collecting wallets and phones from the frozen customers. His hands shook so violently that the bag twitched as if a cat were trapped inside, trying to escape.

  Noah watched as the man in the hoodie silently tossed his wallet into the bag, and the woman in scrubs surrendered her phone, her eyes flicking nervously toward the robber.

  Just do what he says, and everything will be okay, Noah told himself. You've got tomorrow to think about. Don't do anything stupid.

  When it was Noah's turn, he tossed his wallet and cracked-screen phone into the bag.

  But then he heard a small, shaky voice. "No, please, I can’t." It was a child, maybe nine or ten, standing near the candy aisle. She was so slight that Noah hadn’t noticed her when he first came in. She clutched a necklace tightly, her small hands wrapped around the chain. Her clothes were dirty, and her hair was tangled, as if it hadn’t been brushed in days. "It was my mom’s," she whispered, her voice cracking. "She gave it to me before she… I can’t."

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  The robber turned, the gun swinging toward her. “I don’t care. Hand it over.”

  Noah’s chest tightened. The child’s wide, pleading eyes darted around the room, searching for someone—anyone—to help. The clerk had retreated behind the counter, his face pale and terrified. The man in the hoodie lay flat on the floor, unmoving. The woman in scrubs had backed into the corner, her hands over her mouth. No one was doing anything. No one was stepping in.

  The little girl’s eyes locked with Noah’s, and something in him snapped. She looked at him like he could stop this, like he could protect her. No one had ever looked at him like that before. Not his boss, not his roommates, not even his parents when they were alive. He was always the guy who messed up, the one you couldn’t count on. But this girl—she was looking at him like he could be more.

  Don’t do it, he told himself, breaking the contact. You’ve got the meeting tomorrow. Don’t throw it away. Just stay quiet. The cops should be here any second now. You don’t have to be the hero.

  But the robber was getting angrier, his voice rising. “I said give it to me, kid!” He stepped closer to her, the gun shaking in his hand. The child flinched, clutching the necklace tighter, tears streaking down her face. Noah’s blood boiled. She reminded him of himself, back when he’d lost his parents, when he’d felt so small and powerless, clinging to that broken pocket watch like it was the only thing keeping him afloat.

  If you do this, you could die, he thought. You’ve only got one life. You’re not a cop. You’re not trained for this. You’re just a guy trying to make it. Let someone else handle it.

  But no one else was moving. The child was crying now, her shoulders shaking. The robber raised the gun higher, his finger twitching on the trigger. Noah’s hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. If you don’t do something, he’s going to hurt her. And you’ll have to live with that. You’ll have to look in the mirror tomorrow and know you let her down.

  “Hey,” Noah said, his voice louder than he expected. The robber whipped around, the gun now pointing at him. Noah’s stomach lurched, but he forced himself to keep talking. “Leave her alone. She’s just a child. Just let her keep the necklace.”

  The robber’s eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the gun. “You think you’re in charge here? Cut it out.”

  Noah raised his hands, trying to look calm, but his heart pounded so hard he could feel it in his throat. “I’m not trying to fight you, man. I just—she’s scared. It’s just a necklace. It’s not worth much to you. You’ve got all our phones, wallets, the till money—that’s more than enough—”

  “Shut it or I’ll shut it for you,” the robber cut him off, stepping closer, the gun inches from Noah’s chest.

  Noah’s mind raced. I’m going to die, and tomorrow won’t matter. I’ll never be someone my dad would be proud of.

  Noah took a step back.

  I can’t let him hurt her. I just can’t. If I don’t do this, I’ll hate myself even more than I already do. I’ll be just like everyone else in this room, doing nothing. Like a coward.

  "I’m just asking you to let her keep it," Noah said, his voice cracking. He hated how it betrayed him. Then, he heard himself say the words he thought he’d never say. "Here, take my watch," he said, raising one hand in a gesture of surrender, while slowly reaching into his pocket with the other. "The watch doesn’t work, but it’s gold-plated. It’s worth way more than her necklace."

  The robber’s face twisted with fury. He slapped Noah’s hand away, and the watch flew from his grip, smashing against the wall and shattering into pieces. Stepping closer, the robber’s finger tightened on the trigger, his eyes icy and filled with contempt. "I don’t want your broken shit," he sneered. "You think you’re better than me? You’re nothing."

  A loud, sharp sound, like a firework exploding, erupted in Noah’s ears.

  Pain detonated in Noah’s chest, hot and searing as if someone had poured molten iron into him. He stumbled backward, his legs giving out, and hit the floor hard. The world tilted, the fluorescent lights blurring into a haze. He couldn’t breathe or think. His hand fumbled to his chest, it was wet, sticky.

  His ears still rang from the gunshot, but he heard people screaming, their voices distant, like coming from underwater so Noah couldn’t make out the words.

  The child was beside him now, her hands pressed against his chest. Why did she put her hands on my—right, she must be trying to stop the bleeding.

  Her face was streaked with tears, her necklace dangling as she leaned over him. Noah could see why she fought so hard to keep it. The necklace looked ancient, like an heirloom passed down through generations, and it was engraved. At least she kept it. Good, he thought with relief.

  "Everything will be alright," she whispered in a calm tone. She wiped her tears with a bloody hand before quickly returning it to his chest.

  Noah tried to speak, but his voice wouldn’t come. His chest burned, his body heavy, as if sinking into the floor. He wanted to tell her to don’t worry, but no sound came—only a gush of sickeningly warm blood. All he could do was look into her big eyes, which were strangely peaceful.

  His gaze drifted, unfocused, as if trying to take one last good look at the world. It landed on the floor, where the caseback of his watch lay—the one his gramps had engraved with his dad’s name and his own. The etched letters were worn but still faintly visible.

  His hand twitched, fingers trembling as they stretched toward the caseback, but he couldn’t reach it.

  This is it, he thought. I was so close. I was going to be someone. I was going to make dad proud. I just needed more time. I just needed tomorrow.

  His vision blurred, then faded, leaving only darkness.