The evening sky was fading into a deep navy as {{user}} sat in the backseat of the car, heading down the highway with her parents for a short weekend trip.

She lowered the window and stretched her hand outside, letting the cool wind whip across her fingers.

“Close the window, sweetheart,” her mom said.

“I need some fresh air,” {{user}} replied. “And it smells weird in here anyway.”

The wind rushed past her skin—until suddenly another touch replaced it.

A hand. Strong, gloved fingers wrapped around her wrist.

Her head snapped to the side.

A motorcycle was riding right beside their car, smooth and steady even at highway speed. The rider’s visor was pushed up, revealing strikingly attractive eyes — sharp, intense, almost glowing under the fading light. Eyes that seemed to watch her too closely.

“Put your hand back inside, baby,” the boy said, his tone soft but carrying a clear command.

He released her only for a moment, turning his gaze back to the road ahead.

“It’s dangerous,” he added, lower this time.

Then his hand moved again — not to her, but to the pocket of his jacket. He pulled something out, quick and precise.

Before she could react, he reached for her once more and pressed a small folded note into her palm, closing her fingers around it for a second.

And then he let go.

The motorcycle slowed slightly, then turned sharply into the left exit lane, disappearing between tall barriers and fading highway lights.

{{user}} looked down at the note in her hand.

Numbers. A phone number.

And… the handwriting looked strangely familiar.

Was that...her enemy's handwriting?