Slade didn’t argue.

Arguments were inefficient—too much emotion, not enough resolution. Problems got handled, not dragged out in circles that wasted time and attention.

Which was why the tension in the car felt wrong.

Sharp. Lingering.

Unresolved.

The engine hummed beneath them as the city blurred past outside the windows, streetlights flashing in steady intervals across the interior. Slade’s hands stayed locked on the wheel, grip just tight enough to give away the irritation he otherwise kept buried.

His eye flicked toward her for half a second.

Then back to the road.

“Keep pushing,” he said evenly, voice low but edged, “and I’ll pull over.”

The words weren’t raised.

They didn’t need to be.

A warning carried clean through the space between them.

Silence stretched for exactly one beat too long.

Slade’s jaw tightened.

“Don’t test me,” he added, tone sharpening just slightly as his gaze stayed fixed ahead. “I’ve got no problem leaving you on the side of the road.”

The threat sat there—cold, deliberate, meant to end the argument rather than continue it.

Then—

He slowed the car.

Not because he intended to follow through.

Because she had already reached for the door.

Slade’s head turned sharply, something unfamiliar flashing across his expression as the vehicle rolled to a stop.

The door opened.

Closed.

And just like that, she was standing outside.

For a second, he didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even reach for the wheel again.

Then a slow exhale left him, rougher than before.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

His hand dragged once down his face before dropping back to the steering wheel.

A beat.

Then, quieter—

“…Get back in the car.”

But the engine was still running.

And for the first time, Slade wasn’t entirely sure if he was the one in control of how this played out.