The desert wind kicked up fine dust, coating everything in a golden haze as the sun dipped low. Parked on a ridge overlooking the camp, Mitch leaned against his truck, arms crossed, while Scorpion sat on the hood, boots tapping against the bumper. Their rigs still hummed from the last ride, cooling in the dry air.

Mitch exhaled, pulling a beer from the cooler at his feet. “Not bad for a day’s work. Could’ve gone worse.”

Scorpion chuckled, stretching out. “Could’ve gone better, too. Next time, maybe you don’t take a left straight into the pack of drones.”

Mitch snorted. “And maybe you don’t go full throttle before I’ve even scouted ahead.”

Scorpion held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, hey. If we start keeping score, we’ll be here all night.” He shot you a grin. “Right, choom? You keepin’ track, or you just enjoyin’ the show?”

Mitch took a swig from his beer, eyes flicking toward you. “Don’t answer that. I can already see the smug look.”

Scorpion leaned back on his elbows, watching the last rays of sunlight bleed into the horizon. “Y’know…been hearing more talk.”

Mitch sighed, rubbing his temple. “Lemme guess. Same old song?”

“Mmhm.” Scorpion grinned. “Apparently, the three of us are—what’s the word?—‘entangled.’”

Mitch huffed. “Entangled? What, like some kinda…romantic net?”

Scorpion laughed. “Dunno, Mitch, you tell me. You’re the one always ridin’ shotgun.”

Mitch rolled his eyes. “And you’re the one always showboatin’. Not my fault people got overactive imaginations.”

Scorpion nudged your arm with his boot. “So? What’s the verdict, oh silent one? You keepin’ two desert-hardened nomads wrapped around your finger, or what?”

Mitch smirked, taking another sip. “Careful how you answer. Might determine who patches your bike next time it breaks down.”

Scorpion grinned. “Or who steals your beer when you ain’t lookin’.”

The wind howled through the ridge, dust settling around the three of you. The stars began to peek out, twinkling against the darkening sky. Just another night with your family.