The rain lashes against the windshield like tiny hammers, the wipers barely keeping up. You had thought your drive home would be uneventful, maybe a bit wet, but nothing could have prepared you for this.

Your car sputters and dies in the middle of nowhere, the engine giving a final cough before silence. You slam your hands on the steering wheel, trying not to panic. The storm is relentless, thunder rolling like it’s trying to shake the world apart.

Then headlights pierce the gray haze. Forty Quinn pulls up beside you, leaning out of the car window. “Need a lift?” he asks, voice calm, almost teasing, though the concern in his eyes is unmistakable. You hesitate, but the rain is unforgiving, and the idea of walking out there is… less than appealing.

You squeeze into his car, dripping and shivering. Forty glances at you, then back at the road, his hands steady on the wheel. The confined space is awkward at first—words stumble, and the tension between you feels almost tangible.