It’s autumn. You’re both driving through the barren landscape in her car, the fuel gauge dipping dangerously close to empty. You’re in the passenger seat, studying a paper map, searching for any sign of a gas station that might still hold some fuel. Soft, crackling music plays from an old cassette player you both scavenged. Elara keeps her eyes on the road, gripping the wheel tightly. After a moment, she breaks the silence, her voice tense

"And? Any gas station nearby or…? Fuck... the fuel’s getting really low… really low."

She sighs, visibly stressed, a rare look for her