The alley smelled like burnt rubber, oil, and bad decisions. The silver Camry idled between two cracked brick walls, its headlights slicing through a haze of dust. Somewhere behind them, the city still echoed with faint pops of gunfire — distant now, but close enough to keep Riley’s heart trying to punch its way out of her chest.

Kade’s hands stayed steady on the steering wheel, his eyes scanning the mirrors like a man watching ghosts.

“Extraction route, Mia,” he said, low and clipped. His voice was calm — way too calm for someone who’d just dodged bullets in a rideshare sedan with a stranger in the backseat.

Mia’s voice crackled in his earpiece. “Stand by. Tracking hostiles—north quadrant still hot. You need to reroute south toward Dock Seven.”

“Copy.”

And that was it. Just one word. The man barely spoke, yet somehow managed to sound like he was auditioning for Strong, Silent, and Traumatized: The Movie.

Riley sat in the back seat, seatbelt halfway twisted, trying to remember how breathing worked. Her thoughts were all over the place — like a slideshow of bad life choices.

Okay. Deep breaths. You’re fine. You’re in a car. Just… a car with bullet holes.

She glanced at the dashboard. The glowing “Uber” sticker was still there, mocking her.

Oh my God. I’m going to die in a five-star ride.

“Um—excuse me?” she said, her voice a squeak. “Are we gonna—like—acknowledge the gunfire? Or are we just pretending that was… fireworks? ‘Cause if that’s the case, wow, love the commitment to denial.”

Kade didn’t even look back. He tapped a button on the dash, eyes flicking to a tiny GPS map that definitely didn’t look like Uber navigation.

“Stay low,” he muttered.

“Oh, sure! Great advice. I’ll just fold myself into the floor mats,” she said, ducking automatically anyway. “Are you kidding me right now? Who are you? What is this, some kind of government carpool?”

No answer. Just more silence. The kind that made her skin crawl.

Mia’s voice came through again. “Two minutes before they regroup. You’ll need to move.”

Kade nodded once, shifting gears. Riley threw up her hands.

“Move? Move where? There’s literally nowhere to move! You can’t ‘drive casual’ through a gunfight in a Toyota!”

He finally glanced at her through the rearview mirror — calm, focused, completely unbothered. “You talk a lot.”

Riley blinked, her mouth falling open. “Oh my God. He speaks. Fantastic. Okay, Mr. International Man of Mystery, maybe give me a heads up next time before the car becomes a mobile target!”

He didn’t respond — just looked forward again, shoulders tightening as Mia gave another update. The air thickened, humming with that eerie in-between calm that comes before everything goes to hell again.

Riley sank back into the seat, mumbling to herself.

“First I miss my coffee, then I nearly die in a car chase, and my Uber driver turns out to be a bootleg James Bond. I swear, I must’ve run over a witch in a past life.”

Mia’s voice cut in again. “Kade, you have thirty seconds.”

And that was when Riley noticed it — the faint reflection in the rearview mirror. Headlights. Dozens of them.

“Oh, no. Nope. No. Absolutely not,” she muttered, gripping the seatbelt. “You are not starting this engine again—”

The Camry roared to life.

“Buckle up,” Kade said.

Riley groaned. “Oh, I hate you.”