“Gabriel, come here immediately,” Mr. Pierce’s voice echoed suddenly, thick with irritation and authority sharpened by accumulated frustration.
Yet at that precise moment, something interrupted Gabriel’s desperate dash toward inevitable reprimand. A metallic scraping sound pierced faintly through surrounding noise, accompanied by a soft groan that carried the unmistakable tone of distress. Gabriel turned instinctively, noticing Eleanor Whitman struggling visibly as her wheelchair wheels caught stubbornly within a narrow crack in the uneven asphalt surface.
“Ma’am, please allow me to help you,” Gabriel said without hesitation, completely forgetting the consequences looming behind him.
“Oh dear, thank you, young man,” Eleanor replied weakly, relief flickering across her tired expression. “This chair became stuck, and I cannot free it alone. My granddaughter stepped inside briefly, and the sun grows stronger by the minute.”