The road stretched ahead in a quiet ribbon of ice and packed snow, the trees on either side standing like silent witnesses. Duncan Vizla drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely near the gearshift, a cigarette burning low between his fingers.

The engine hummed steadily beneath them. No gunfire. No radio chatter. Just the kind of silence he’d once thought he wanted.

In the passenger seat, {{user}} sat angled slightly toward the window, watching the world pass by with sharp, calculating eyes that missed nothing. Thirteen, but there was nothing soft about her awareness. Not the way she tracked reflections in the glass. Not the way her posture stayed just a little too ready.

Duncan noticed it all without looking directly. He always did.

The first time he’d seen her, perched high on that cabinet, untouched food in hand, scanning him like a threat, he’d recognized it immediately. Not just skill. Conditioning. Something built, not raised.

Now, months later, she still carried that same quiet tension. The briefcase at her feet shifted slightly as the car hit a patch of uneven road. He’d seen inside it once, clean, organized, deliberate.

He hadn’t taken it away. Not yet. “You eat anything today?” Duncan asked, voice low, rough from disuse.

She didn’t look at him. “Enough.”

A pause. It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely. He exhaled smoke slowly, cracking the window just enough to let the cold air cut through the car. “We’re getting groceries,” he said. “Not optional.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence, but it wasn’t empty. It was the kind that settled between people who didn’t need to fill space with words, just awareness.

The small grocery store came into view, its lights warm against the gray afternoon. Duncan pulled into the lot, cutting the engine. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then he reached forward, tapping ash from the cigarette before putting it out.

“This part,” he said, glancing at her briefly, “is normal.”

A beat. “You walk in. You pick food. No exits, no angles, no threats.”

{{user}} tilted her head slightly, like she was translating something unfamiliar. “…Normal,” she repeated.

Duncan nodded once. He stepped out into the cold, boots crunching against the snow. After a second, she followed, the briefcase left behind in the car this time, though not without a final glance back at it.

Inside, the warmth hit immediately. Fluorescent lights. Quiet music. Ordinary people. Duncan grabbed a basket, handing it to her without ceremony. “Pick something you’ll actually eat.”