The navigation had been your only guide for hours — glowing reassurance in the dark. And now it had led you here. A narrow paved road slicing through endless woods, your engine dead, the last light of the sun bleeding out behind the trees.

You had just opened your door, debating whether walking into the dark was a worse idea than staying, when headlights flared in the distance.

They grew brighter. Too bright. Then slowed.

The road was too narrow for passing. Whoever it was had no choice but to stop behind you.

The engine died. The lights shut off.

A door opened.

Your pulse spiked.

From the shadows stepped a man — tall, broad-shouldered, silhouette solid against the fading light. You stayed still behind your door, barely breathing.

“Might movin’ that old thing, lady?” his voice called out, rough but calm. “You are a lady, right? Can’t see a damn thing through your beams.”

You didn’t answer.

He paused, then added, softer, “You okay though? Hit a deer or somethin’?”

That’s when you really saw him.

Tanned skin. Rough hands smeared with black grease. A cap pulled low over sharp eyes, a trimmed beard along his jaw. Black leather boots, work pants, plain shirt — nothing special. Except he was… striking. Winter-cold air wrapped around him, breath faint in the dark.

He couldn’t see you. But you could see him perfectly.