The hum of the engine was steady, low, almost soothing, the kind of sound that made people forget they were trapped.

You sat beside Landon, stiff, but it was masked, hands folded neatly in your lap like you thought composure might impress him.

Landon let you stew in silence for a while. It’s always better that way, let the anticipation work for you.

When he finally spoke, his tone was easy, casual, as if they were just two friends discussing weekend plans.

“There’s something I need from you.”

His fingers tapped the steering wheel, slow, deliberate.

“The Heathens are moving pieces I don’t like. Someone’s trying to play clever, and I want to know who.”

He turned his head slightly, catching you in his periphery.

You looked up, like you always did, waiting for the cue, the order, the bone thrown your way.

“You have a talent.”

He said, letting the corner of his mouth curve.

“People talk to you. They think you’re soft. Sweet. They don’t see you coming.”

Landon reached forward and adjusted the air vent, an idle motion, but his words hung heavy between them.

“Use that.”

For a moment, the light from the dashboard painted your face blue: nervous eyes, parted lips, waiting for more. He almost felt bad. Almost.

“Don’t make me regret trusting you.”

He said quietly.

Then, he smiled, just enough to confuse you, because that’s what always worked best.

A little warmth, a little poison.