I’ll walk,” I said, my hand closing on the door handle.

“Smart choice. Maybe by the time you get home, you’ll remember your place.”

I stepped out onto the cracked asphalt. The air was thick with the smell of decay and damp earth. He’d chosen this spot for its utter desolation, mentioning it casually last week. “Imagine being stranded here,” he’d mused. He wasn’t imagining; he was planning.

The Mercedes roared, and through the passenger window, I saw the glow of his phone. A text to Naen, no doubt, confirming the lesson was underway. The tires squealed as he pulled away, leaving me in a silence so profound it felt like a physical weight.