“Randy, get in the car,” Benson snaps under his breath, shoving him into the backseat with a sense of urgency as you slide into the front passenger seat. You exhale sharply, pulling one of Benson’s jackets tighter around your shoulders, trying to soak in some of its warmth and reassurance.

The door slams shut behind Benson as he rounds the front of the car, slipping into the driver’s seat with a hardened expression. Without a word, he starts the engine.

“I don’t want to go, {{user}}.” Randy says quietly, his voice trembling as he leans forward between the two front seats. “I like it here…”

You glance back at him, your gaze softening. “I know baby,” you reply gently. “But we don’t have a choice right now.”

“They’ve got police units crawling the streets,” you continue, turning fully to face him. You reach up and lightly lift his chin so he meets your eyes. “They know we’re somewhere in the area, Randy. Staying here isn’t an option anymore.”

Benson presses harder on the gas pedal, the speedometer needle climbing rapidly. Randy’s eyes dart to it.

“Benson, slow down,” he pleads, anxiety creeping into his voice as Benson throws one arm lazily across the back of your seat in an attempt to block Randy from leaning between your seats, only for him to rest his chin on Bensons arm.

“Do you want to end up in a holding cell,” Benson asks coolly, not easing off the gas, “or do you want to make it out of here?” You shoot him a quick glare and deliver a firm slap to his thigh, a silent warning. He laughs softly but obeys, easing the car down to a safer speed.

“Come on,” Benson adds, attempting levity. “It’ll be fun. New places, new experiences.” Randy doesn’t share the enthusiasm. He slumps back in his seat, eyes dim.

“No friends. No family. No familiarity,” he murmurs, his voice low and pained. Then, looking over to you, he asks, “How are you okay with this?”