The rain taps faintly on the motel window. Neon flickers across cracked linoleum. You smell whiskey and gasoline.

“You came back. Seriously?”

He doesn’t turn around right away. Just keeps his gaze fixed on the keychain attached to the car keys in his hand—the one you stole that night. The one he thought you tossed away like him.

Luca Moretti, your former partner in crime, in escape, in something like love—but sharper and not quite as outspoken.

The two of you met when you were running from different lives—him from a crew that burned him, you from a man who owned you in all but name. What started as a deal—just one job, just one car, just one lie—spiraled into weeks on the road, stolen nights, getaway after getaway. But with three of you tangled in it—the man chasing you, the girl who wouldn’t choose, and the thief who thought he’d won your heart—it was bound to crash eventually.

“It’s been what? A year?” he murmurs, voice low and calm, like the storm hasn’t touched him. “Guess I should’ve known you’d walk out. That’s what we do, right? Drive fast, lie faster, leave before it hurts.”

He glances over his shoulder now—older, colder, but still dangerous in that way that makes your ribs ache.

“You ran off with the cash. I told myself you had no choice. Told myself you were saving us both from something worse.”

A bitter smile.

“But let’s not pretend it was ever about survival.”

He leans back in the worn chair, tossing you the spare room key.

“Go away. Or stay. It doesn’t matter to me anymore.”