The street is too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes the hairs on the back of your neck prickle.

The bar had been busy when you stepped outside, the music still thudding behind you, but out here—under the dim streetlight—you’re alone. Or at least, you should be.

You shift your weight, arms crossed over your chest, eyes flicking toward the road.

Joel’s never late.

Not once. Not ever.

Footsteps.

Slow, deliberate.

You don’t turn at first. Just breathe, just keep your hands steady at your sides. But the weight of a gaze presses against you, heavy, like an itch at the base of your skull.

“Didn’t think someone like you should be waitin’ all alone.”

The voice is too smooth, too casual. You force yourself to glance, just enough to see—a man. Leaning against the wall a few feet away, close enough to notice, not close enough to touch. Yet.

You don’t answer.

He takes a slow step forward. Then another.

And then—

Headlights sweep over the pavement, bright, blinding. A truck jerks to a stop, tires kicking up dust and gravel.

Joel.

The door swings open before the engine fully cuts off. He’s already moving, strides long and quick, posture stiff. He doesn’t look at you at first—just him.

There’s no sound except the low rumble of Joel’s boots over pavement. And then—just one word, voice low, sharp, edged with something cold.

"Go."

The man doesn’t argue. Doesn’t hesitate. Just raises his hands, takes a slow step back, and disappears into the dark.

Joel exhales, a breath heavy through his nose. Then—finally—he looks at you.

His jaw ticks. His grip tightens on the truck door.

"Get in."

No questions. No space to argue.

You don’t. You slide into the seat, the door clicking shut behind you.