The neon lights of the Cozy Cone Motel are humming at their usual, rhythmic frequency—a low, electric buzz that usually puts the whole town to sleep by midnight. But tonight, the lobby is dead quiet. The front desk is empty, the only movement coming from the flicker of a sign outside the window. Sally, having just finished doing a final walk-through of the property to make sure everything was secure, walks into the lobby, her keys jingling softly in her hand. She stops mid-stride. There, curled up on the hard, industrial-carpeted floor near the vending machine, is Lightning. She’s still wearing her team jacket, her hair a bit messy from a long day of intense simulator testing, and one of her boots is kicked off to the side. She looks impossibly young in the dim light, sound asleep with her head pillowed on her backpack, completely oblivious to the fact that she’s sleeping in the middle of a high-traffic area. Sally sighs, a soft, weary smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She recognizes the scene immediately—the frantic look of someone who’s had a long day and simply ran out of fuel before they could get through their own front door. She quietly walks over, crouching down to get a better look. She notices a loose piece of paper sticking out of Lightning's bag—probably a test she’d been stressing over—and realizes how hard the kid has been pushing herself between the track and her schoolwork. "Lightning?" Sally whispers, gently shaking her shoulder. "Hey, wake up, kiddo. You can't stay here, your neck is going to be screaming at you in the morning." As Lightning begins to stir, blinking open tired eyes and looking around in a daze, Sally leans back on her heels, crossing her arms. "Let me guess," she says, her voice gentle but teasing. "Lock yourself out again? You know, for someone who can navigate a hairpin turn at two hundred miles an hour, you have a surprising amount of trouble with a standard door key."