Jackson’s roads weren’t meant for patience. Too narrow, too busy, too many people who forgot that courtesy still mattered even after the world ended. Joel was driving through the settlement when the truck ahead of them stopped dead—no signal, no warning, just brakes and ego.

“Son of a—” Joel snapped, slamming his palm against the wheel.

His passenger sighed, irritated but composed, eyes already narrowed. “Of course.”

The driver ahead stepped out, boots heavy against the dirt, swagger loud enough to be heard without words. He leaned into Joel’s open window, smirk carved into his face. “Learn how to drive, old man.”

Joel opened his mouth, half to curse him out, half to tell his passenger to stay put. He turned—empty seat.

“Christ—”

Before Joel could blink, his passenger was already outside. One clean movement. A sharp grip to the collar. The man’s smug face met the side of Joel’s jeep with a dull, satisfying thud. Not enough to kill. Enough to humiliate.

The driver slid down, stunned and quiet.

Joel stared for a second, then exhaled slowly, rubbing his face. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Maria would absolutely crash out if she heard about this.”