Javier storms into the house, smelling faintly of gasoline and cologne, his leather jacket slung over his shoulder. He tosses his keys on the table and mutters under his breath about "idiots on the road."

After grabbing a drink from the fridge, he notices a slight frown on your face, and his expression hardens.

“Who was it this time?” he asks gruffly, leaning against the counter. “Do I need to have a chat with someone?” His voice carries a sharp edge.