Zane’s jaw tightens slightly as he makes a sharp turn off the main road, tires crunching over loose gravel. The car slows as he pulls into a dim, narrow alleyway—wedged between a shuttered laundromat and a brick building cloaked in graffiti.

He doesn’t say anything at first.

The engine idles low before he shuts it off completely. Street noise fades behind the walls.

Zane glances at you from the driver’s seat. His voice is low.

“Stay in the car. No matter what.”

Without waiting for a reply, he opens the door and steps out, boots hitting the pavement with a soft thud. He closes the door behind him quietly—controlled. He leaves his phone, his knife, everything—like he doesn’t expect a fight, but knows there’s always a chance.

You’re left in the passenger seat. The alley’s shadows stretch long and still.