Morning arrived with a hushed reverence. It didn't announce itself with the usual city roar; instead, it slipped through the glass of the windshield in long, golden fingers, resting gently on Leo’s face.
He stirred, his consciousness returning in slow, heavy waves. At first, he thought he was still dreaming. His body felt stiff, his neck ached with a dull soreness, and the air around him was far colder than it should have been. When he tried to shift, the surface beneath him didn't yield like a mattress. It was firm, synthetic, and cramped.
His eyes snapped open.
Realization hit him like a bucket of ice water. He blinked, staring at the dashboard, the steering wheel, and the pale reflection of his own disheveled face in the rearview mirror. He was still in the car.
A quiet, breath
