Clara squinted, she was raising a hand to shade her eyes but the afternoon sun speared straight into her eyes. The glare from the white Tesla's windshield was merciless and blinded her annoyingly. She fussed with the visor to no avail.
"There are sunglasses in the glove box, darling," Cyra offered, the words dripping in casual charm.
He'd been watching her more than the road ever since she'd slid into the passenger seat. Without the oversized sweatshirt she'd worn last night, she was left in a plain white T-shirt — his T-shirt. It hung loose at the shoulders and stopped short at her thighs, riding up whenever she shifted in her seat. On him, it was just fabric; on her, it was intoxicating.
Clara popped open the glove box, rummaging past a tidy stack of papers, an expensive pen, and something metallic she didn't look at too closely. Her hand froze on a pair of oversized black sunglasses. She held them up to the light, turning them in her fingers.
"Are these… lady's sunglasses?" she asked, half teasing and half suspicious.
"They are. Whose are these, Cyra?" She raised an eyebrow.
"They belong to a friend of mine."
Her curiosity peaked. "Uh-huh."
A smile tugged at his mouth, and his gaze flicked to her — just long enough for her to notice before returning to the road. He made a sound low in his throat, halfway between a chuckle and an outright laugh.
"What's so funny?" Clara demanded.
"You are, my dear. You're hilarious. Your jealousy is absolutely adorable."
Clara's lips parted, a retort on the edge, but she shut it again and slipped the sunglasses on with deliberate slowness. Leaning back into the seat, she crossed her legs like the matter was settled. "I'm not jealous."
He laughed — not loud, but in a way that said he didn't believe her for a second.
She turned her head toward the window, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking at him. "You have to actually care about someone to be jealous, Cyra. And I don't care what you do or who you do it with."
"Mm hm." His tone was skeptical, but he let the sound hang in the air for a moment before adding. "You can pretend like you aren't jealous all you want princess, but you have nothing to worry about. Those sunglasses belong to my very good friend and associate, Natalia."
His arm slid easily along the back of her seat, his fingers brushing her shoulder like it was second nature.
"Hands on the steering wheel, mister. Eyes on the road—" She shifted away from him, adjusting the T-shirt down over her thighs. " —We've had enough near-death experiences to last a lifetime."
Cyra removed his arm but didn't stop admiring Clara. His eyes scanned her body very slowly and had to stop himself from imagining that she must be fully nude underneath the T-shirt.
"The car drives itself," he said, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek with the back of his fingers. The touch was soft, unhurried. For just a fraction of a second, she didn't move. Then her eyes narrowed and she smacked his hand away.
"So," she said, voice a touch sharper than she meant, "—tell me about Natalia." Cyra had never mentioned her before and he often parades himself like he's the bachelor of the year so if there is anything going on between Natalia and Cyra, she didn't know anything about it and it peaked her interest.
"She's cunning," Cyra said, gaze shifting back to the road. "Talented. By far the best shot I've ever seen." There was a note of respect there that Clara rarely heard from him — the kind that meant this Natalia wasn't just another one of his disposable flings.
"And…?" she pressed.
"And— it's a good thing you'll never meet her because if you did, she'd probably kill you."
"Lovely." Clara muttered. Her mind was already piecing together her own impression of Natalia. Whoever she was, Clara didn't like the way Cyra spoke about her.
The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence that followed. The scenery outside shifted from crowded streets to the empty stretch along the storm drain embankment, sunlight glinting off the slow-moving rain water below. Weeds curled through cracks in the pavement, and the air felt heavier somehow.
When they turned off toward the warehouse, Clara felt her stomach tighten. In daylight, it looked strangely ordinary — just a dusty brick building with a loading dock, chain-link fencing sagging in places.
Then she saw her car.
"Those assholes!" She was out of the Tesla before it had fully stopped, the slam of the door echoing across the empty lot. Gravel crunched under her feet as she stalked toward the wreckage.
It sat low and slumped on its axles, all four tires gone. Neon spray paint slashed crude gang tags over the hood and doors, an ugly scrawl across the metallic finish she'd spent years protecting. The back passenger window was gone, glass scattered like glitter over the cracked asphalt. Inside, the backseat was littered with leaves and scraps of newspaper that fluttered faintly in the breeze.
"This is your fault!" she snapped, spinning on her toes to Cyra and shoving him hard in the chest. "If you hadn't stolen that stupid moon gem, none of this would've happened!"
She turned back, kicking the bumper in a burst of frustration. She immediately bent down to rub the spot where she kicked apologetically.
Her back slid against the side panel as she lowered herself to the ground, knees bent, arms resting loosely over them. The heat from the metal seeped through the thin fabric of the T-shirt. She kept her eyes on the asphalt, jaw tight, the kind of glare that said she'd set fire to the whole block if given half a chance… again.
Cyra stayed silent. He simply reached into his pocket, pulling out a sleek phone without a case and pressing a single button without looking.
The line clicked once.
"Hello, Natalia," Cyra said, his lips curling faintly.
"—I'm in need of your services."