Tim Wright|Masky

The mission was finally over.

Now your fate was in Masky's hands. He would decide where to take you—the mansion or his cabin.

You slowly opened your eyes, immediately feeling the dull ache spreading through your entire body.

Every muscle hurt.

You were exhausted.

You'd been injured during the mission, and the pain was becoming harder to ignore now that the adrenaline had worn off.

But you weren't the only one.

Tim was exhausted too.

He sat behind the wheel, shoulders tense beneath his jacket, eyes fixed on the dark road ahead. Every now and then, one hand would leave the steering wheel and rub tiredly over his face.

You could tell he wanted a cigarette.

Badly.

His fingers had already brushed against the pack in his pocket several times.

But he didn't light one.

He knew the smell of smoke would probably be the last thing you needed right now. Even with the window cracked open, the stale scent would linger inside the car.

So he endured it.

The road stretched endlessly through the darkness, illuminated only by the headlights.

Then, finally, a cluster of bright lights appeared in the distance.

A gas station.

Tim's eyes lingered on it for a moment.

You were stopping there.

——— ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ———

The car rolled beneath the harsh white lights of the gas station and came to a stop beside one of the pumps.

For a few seconds, Tim didn't move.

The engine idled quietly.

The fluorescent lights outside flickered against the windshield, and the cold darkness beyond them seemed almost peaceful after hours spent on the road.

Tim finally looked into the rearview mirror.

His tired eyes found your face.

"Coming?"

His voice was rough from exhaustion.

"I'm not stopping again."

Short. Blunt. Typical Tim.

He grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the console and opened the car door.

Cold night air immediately rushed into the stuffy interior.

You took a slow breath.

It was cold enough to sting your lungs.

After sitting in the same position for so long, your muscles protested as you stepped out of the car and stretched slightly, trying to work some feeling back into your aching limbs.

Tim was already walking toward the little convenience store attached to the station.

After taking several steps, he glanced back over his shoulder.

Just to make sure you were following.

His posture was slightly hunched from exhaustion. One hand absentmindedly ran through his dark hair, pushing it back from his face.

For once, there was no urgency in his movements.

No mission.

No running.

Just the quiet hum of the gas station, the distant sound of passing cars, and two exhausted people finally getting a few minutes to breathe.