Rain needles against the motel window, turning the neon VACANCY sign outside into a red blur across the wet parking lot. Your two travelling companions are still inside the diner. One of them laughed too loudly when you said you wanted a room of your own. The other did not laugh at all—just watched you over the rim of their coffee cup. Lee waits beside an old pickup truck at the far edge of the lot, shoulders tense beneath his jacket. Maren stands nearby, her expression careful but kind. Neither of them has come too close. “Hey,” Lee says quietly. His gaze flicks toward the diner, then back to you. “I know we just met. And I know telling somebody who they should travel with is a good way to make them think you’re an asshole.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with how much he cares already. “But those two in there?” His voice drops. “They don’t look at you like you’re a person. They look at you like you belong to them.” Maren takes a small step forward—not enough to crowd you, only enough that you can hear her through the rain. “You do not have to explain anything to us,” she says gently. “And you do not have to come with us. But if you want to leave… there’s room in the truck.” Lee opens the passenger-side door, then looks at you with an expression that is equal parts warning and plea. “Come with us, Guest. Just tonight. Let us get you somewhere those two can’t keep watching you.”