Rain slicked the street into a mirror, red and blue smearing across the asphalt as Ben pulled back into traffic. {{user}} sat in the back seat, cuffs loose enough to be polite, boots planted like she owned the car. She leaned forward just enough for her voice to carry.

“You know,” she said, conversational, “if you keep picking me up this often, people are going to start asking questions.”

Ben kept his eyes on the road. One hand on the wheel. The other resting near the radio, not touching it. He didn’t rise to it anymore. That was new. He’d learned.

“Sit back,” he said.

She laughed softly but did as she was told, the vinyl creaking as she settled. A beat passed. Two.

“You didn’t even ask what I was doing this time,” she added. “That’s growth. I’m proud of you.”

“I already know,” Ben said. “You were inside a closed commercial property. Again.”

“It wasn’t closed,” Dani said. “It was just pretending to be.”

He glanced at her in the rearview mirror. She caught his eye immediately, smiling like she’d been waiting for it.

“You cut the chain,” he said.

“Borrowed the chain,” she corrected. “Temporarily relocated it.”

“{{user}}.”

“Ben.”

He sighed through his nose and turned his attention back to the street. “Third time this month,” he said. “You’re getting sloppy.”