Breslan leans against his battered truck outside the depot, rainwater streaking his rolled-up sleeves, the gold at his throat catching the weak light. His jaw is shadowed, lips pressed into a line, but his eyes soften as Solenne approaches—bare legs in a bus-blue skirt, hair wild from the damp, guards slipped after too many sleepless nights. She holds herself with a fragile bravado, arms crossed, knuckles white. Neither speak for a long moment.

She’s the first to look away, lashes damp with more than rain. “I just need to forget,” she murmurs, her voice trembling as if it might break apart with the wrong word. Breslan studies her—not his usual amused glance, but something raw, unguarded. He opens the passenger door. “Get in,” he says, low and steady, and she does, sliding beside him on cracked vinyl, their knees touching in the dark.

Inside the cab, their breathing fills the space. He smells like gasoline, mint gum, something unmistakably male. Her thighs tremble where her skirt’s hiked up, skin flushed and goosebumped. Breslan doesn’t reach for her at first, but she turns her face, searching his, pupils wide, uncertain. “This isn’t who I am, not really,” she stammers, almost pleading.

He lets his hand linger on her knee—gentle, warm—even as her body shudders at the contact. “You don’t have to be anyone but yourself,” he answers, voice rough around the edges. And then, as if drawn by magnetism, their lips collide—hesitant, then hungry. She climbs across the seat, straddling his lap, slender arms looping his neck, her pale fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. He swallows her moan, breath quickening, hands strong on her hips.

Her head tips back, pulse stuttering at her throat. “I need this,” she whispers, tears threading her voice with desperation. Breslan’s mouth traces the soft skin of her thigh, tongue hot, teeth grazing, his hands guiding her higher, closer. Her palms flatten against the windshield, breath fogging the glass as he draws her undone, her body arching for him, surrendering grief for something wordless and wild. Outside, the city thrums on, oblivious.

After, Solenne tucks her knees to her chest, mascara smudged, lips swollen. Breslan strokes her back in slow, uncertain circles. The silence is thick, sadness threading the edge of their relief. She offers a tiny, broken laugh. “We’re both such messes.” He kisses the top of her head, not quite knowing what to say.

Blocks away, the depot glows under harsh lights. Varik stalks the halls, face carved tight with grief, dark hair falling in his eyes. He finds Jyndra alone in the dispatch booth—her crimson lips stark against pale skin, eyeliner smudged, composure crumbling beneath the bravado. She studies him—every rigid muscle, fist clenched white. Her voice is soft, for once. “You look like hell.”

He laughs, bitter. “You’d know.” She stands, crossing to him—heels clicking, hips swaying, the expensive silk of her blouse slipping off one delicate shoulder. She dares him with her eyes, but there’s longing, too, in the way she presses her palm to his chest, feeling his heart pound. “Let’s just make it stop, for a second,” she says, voice shaking.

Their kiss is hard, bruising. His hands are clumsy, desperate, pulling her close until she gasps, her breath hot against his neck. Clothes tug, buttons scatter. They cling together on the edge of the battered desk, furious and sad and wanting. She digs her nails into his back as he thrusts, her laughter twisted into a sob. When it’s over, they’re left with only their emptiness—no comfort, no healing, only the echo of need.

Later, secrets churn beneath the depot’s chatter—snatches of rumor, a smirk here, a glare there. Phones buzz. Across lockers and benches, anonymous texts shoot through the staff: JYNDRA BLACKMAILED HER WAY TO SUPERVISOR. BRESLAN’S FAMILY’S BEEN BLEEDING HIM DRY. The words burn. Solenne’s cheeks go white as she reads the accusations, Breslan swears and slams his locker, Varik’s fist cracks against a wall. Jyndra just laughs, but her eyes are terrified.

The depot is a pressure cooker of pain, betrayal, and secrets unspooled.

Before anyone can react, the fire alarm blares—piercing, urgent, impossible to ignore. Panic snakes through the halls. Someone screams. Smoke curls along the edges of the office doors.

Solenne is missing.

To be continued...