The engine hummed quietly beneath us as I glanced at {{user}} from the driver's seat, the city lights flickering past the windows. The leather creaked under the shift of my weight as I adjusted my position on the chair, the silence between us filled with the rhythm of the tyres against the wet pavement. I didn’t bother with small talk—never been my thing. The tension in the air told me enough. They were waiting for something, a signal maybe.

"You know," I finally say, not bothering to take my eyes off the road, "if you were planning to stab me in the back, you’d have done it by now." I flicked a glance their way, brief but sharp, daring them to show their hand.