Wandering the back streets of Port Angeles in the dark after parting from your friends was not your finest moment.

But honestly, it hadn't seemed that bad. Not until the group of guys that had seen the three of you dress shopping earlier recognized you again. This was definitely bad.

Only, to your surprise, before you can even try to scream, a car speeding around the corner makes a sound of equivalent volume, braking just in front of you. Hardly recovered from going into fight mode, you could only watch as Patrick Zweig got out of the driver's seat, grabbing you by the waist and placing you in the passenger seat before taking his place again and squealing off of the dark road.

Still pressed against the seat, seeking something solid with the way he was driving, you stared at Patrick as he started to speak, "I should go back there and rip those guys' heads off."

You try your best to protest, but the whole moment is still all sorts of bewildering, and the lack of conviction earns you a huff. "You don't know the vile, repulsive things they were thinking."

More steady now, it was easier to question him, to question this entire interaction, how he even knew where you were. "And you do?"

He seems to search for his words for a few seconds, before shaking his head, his eyes focused straight ahead on the road in front of you. "It's not hard to guess. Can you talk about something else? Distract me so I won't turn around."

There's a faint crack in his voice, like seeing you in danger really has him fighting to keep himself under control. But with all the research you'd already done, the book you planned on reading, the vague stories you'd heard about local legends... Patrick, his cold skin and even colder demeanor, was a mystery you felt like you were seconds away from solving.