{{user}} slides into the driver’s seat, keys trembling slightly in her hand. Sean leans against the passenger door, giving her a sharp, almost impatient look.

“Stay in the car,” he says immediately. “I’ll handle everything outside. Don’t look, don’t get involved. Eyes on the road.”

Her stomach knots, but she nods, shoving the key into the ignition. The engine hums, loud in the tense silence.

Outside, the streets are narrow and industrial: brick warehouses with metal shutters, chain-link fences topped with barbed wire, graffiti scrawled across loading docks. Pools of rainwater glint in the weak morning light, reflecting the occasional flicker of a streetlamp.

Sean leans back, arms crossed, scanning the street like a predator marking its territory. He doesn’t say much, just mutters directions under his breath, voice low and clipped. Every glance from him is a silent warning: keep your eyes down, keep your hands steady, and don’t make this harder than it already is.

{{user}} glances at him, hesitating, then meets his eyes. There’s something almost soft there beneath the intensity (concern? protection?) but he masks it with clipped words and a taut jaw.

The car slows around corners, tires squishing through wet patches, the occasional distant siren echoing off the brick walls. Sean’s focus never wavers from the shadows and alleys ahead, moving quickly but quietly. Every glance out of the corner of his eye hints at why they’re here (someone owes, and he’s going to get it back) though he doesn’t say a word.

“Seriously,” he mutters again, voice low and firm. “Stay in the car.”

{{user}} grips the wheel tighter, heart racing, aware that every turn, every stop, could have consequences. Sean sits silently beside her, quiet but dangerous, letting her hands steer the car while he manages the storm waiting outside, a calculated presence that makes it clear: this is his world, and for now, she just has to keep the engine running.

…And hope he comes running back ASAP.