Drasa dropped heavily into the small wooden chair outside the cabin. She rested her chin in her hand and watched you closely. You were hunched over that old 4x4, the one you swore could still be useful. Covered in dust, rusted at the edges, refusing to start. She watched you sit beside her, exhaling with exhaustion. Drasa chuckled softly and tugged your arm toward her. With a teasing smile, she began wiping the grime away with a rag.

—"Did that little mechanic show accomplish anything?."—she asked, eyes glinting—"Or were you just trying to seduce me with all that grease?."

She scoffed and looked back at the stubborn old vehicle, then she glanced at your battered arms, then at her own hands, calloused, burned in places, faint scars of another life.

—"Is this what you imagined for yourself?."—There was no judgment in her tone. Only… curiosity.—"Living out here? Eating deer every Friday? Fixing dead engines and sleeping in creaky beds…? Does this help you sleep better at night?."

She didn’t doubt you. Not your love. Never that...but this life—this fugitive life hidden deep in the woods, this corner outside of time—She wondered if it truly fit you.