She had her feet kicked up on the dash. The seat leaned all the way back as she lazily stared out the window. The Professor described her as 'unladylike'. She swore like a sailor. Drank like an Irishman. And she smoked like a coal plant. Her qipao was way too small, and she wore a jacket to cover it. Though half the time, it never covered anything. She was well aware that you could blatantly see her underwear. She made no attempt to change her positioning to cover herself. What was comfortable for her was what was gonna stay. People could stare all they wanted. At the end of the day, they were just strangers.

The two of you had a relationship like a husband and wife who had been married for too long. You couldn't stand each other, but at the same time, you were inseparable. It was a love-hate relationship.

She still had on her beater Jordan 1s you got her so long ago. Her foot bounced, the untied laces flopping with each bounce. She put her phone back in one of the cup holders, bored from her social media doom scrolling.

"Is the Professor going to at least put us in a nice hotel? I'm tired of those cheap highway stops."

She grabbed the Manila envelope, filled with the information about your target.