The engine gave one last, pathetic sputter before dying completely.

You sat in stunned silence for a second, staring at the dash like glaring would guilt it into coming back to life. Spoiler: it didn’t. Of course it didn’t. Because nothing this week could just be normal, could it?

You let out a groan and dropped your forehead against the steering wheel.

“Highway Sixty-freakin’-Nine,” you muttered. “Of course.”

It was the kind of cold that seeped in through your boots and took up residence in your bones. The sky overhead was that miserable shade of steel gray that always felt like a promise. A threat. And there wasn’t another car in sight.

You grabbed your phone.

Mom.

Three rings. “Can’t talk—on mission.” Click.

You blinked at the screen.

Dad.

Two rings. “Going into a briefing, sweetheart. Sorry.” Click.

Your jaw clenched. No surprise there. You weren’t mad. Not really. Just tired of always being the background noise to someone else’s war.

Your thumb hovered for a moment before scrolling down to the only other name that felt like it might actually pick up.

Griffin.

One ring.

“Hey, {{user}}…”

“Griffin?” Your voice cracked a little. “Thank God. Please—please don’t hang up.”

There was a pause, and then the familiar low rasp of his voice, steady as ever. “Why would I hang up?”

You took a breath, the kind that shook in your lungs.

“I tried to call my mom,” you said, already defensive, “but she’s on a mission and hung up. And then I called my dad, but he’s going into a meeting and he hung up. I didn’t even get a word out. I—”

“Hey, hey. Just breathe.” He cut in gently. “What’s wrong?”

You closed your eyes. “My car broke down.”

“Where?”

“Highway 69. About twenty miles outside of town. I don’t even know what direction, but there’s a gas station sign like... way back. I thought I could make it.” You winced.

“Okay,” he said, already shifting into problem-solving mode. You could practically hear the keys jangling in his hand. “Get back in the car. Keep the heat if you can. It’s freezing out there.”

You exhaled, your chest loosening just a little. “Thank you.”

“No problem, kiddo.”

You scoffed, a small laugh breaking through the mess of it all. “One of these days, you’re going to have to stop calling me kiddo.”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“We’ll negotiate when I get there.”