The wind carried the scent of rain, sharp and cold, as the last traces of daylight faded from the sky. Streetlamps stood like tired sentinels, casting pale circles of light onto the slick pavement.

Your breath hung in the air, white and fleeting, while your fingers ached from the chill.

You kept your head down, the steady rhythm of raindrops tapping against your hood, until the turn brought you face-to-face with the glare of headlights.

They belonged to a sleek red Mustang, its paint gleaming wet under the dim light.

Leaning against it was a man, cigarette between his fingers, the ember glowing in the dark. His gaze lifted lazily to meet yours—only for a heartbeat—but long enough for you to see his eyes.

Not just dark. Hollow. Empty in a way that made the world seem suddenly quieter.