The morning was quiet. One of those too-clear, too-silent kinds where everything felt like it was holding it's breath.
Elena stepped outside, still barefoot, mug warm in her hand. She didn't have a plan—just needed air, space, something that didn't feel like the walls closing in.
She saw the Mustang.
Tried not to care.
Tried not to notice how the sun caught the curves of the hood, or how the glass reflected back just enough of her to feel like the car was watching her too.
She didn't plan to walk toward it. but she did.
The door opened with a soft groan, the kind she recognized—old, but not neglected. She slid into the seat, careful like if might judge her for it. The leather was cool. The silence inside felt heavier than outside, but not in a bad way.
She didn't start it.
Didn't need to.
Just sat there.
Let the weight settle.
She le her fingers trail over the wheel, the dash. Familiar shaped, familiar rhythm. This was the kind of space that used to make sense. Where things fit where they belonged and nothing asked questions.
She reached for the console, brushing past old coins and a crumpled gas station receipt. Her knuckles hit something flat.
She paused.
Fished it out.
A black matchbook.
Her fingers turned it automatically.
One look at the red logo and her chest tightened.
The Marionette.
The club. The stare. The start of all of this.
She opened it.
One match missing.
Of course.
She sat back against the seat, the matchbook loose in her palm. Her coffee was cold now, but she didn't reach for it.
She didn't know what she was supposed to feel—annoyed? Touched? Played?
All she knew was that it hadn't been left by accident.
She closed it, tucked it into the glove box without a word.
The second she did, a voice came from the yard.
"Looks good with you in it."
She looked up.
Ryan stood near the fence, coffee in one hand, sunglasses pushed up into that mess of hair that always looked like it needed cutting but somehow worked on him.
He didn't move. Just raised the cup in greeting.
"Didn't mean to sneak up," he said, nodding toward the Mustang. "Figured you'd either tell me to get lost or let me say hi. Worth the risk."
She didn't get out of the car right away.
Just stared at him for a few seconds.
Trying to gauge how she felt.
Still hadn't decided.
Finally, she opened the door, slid out, mug in hand.
"Morning," she said flatly.
Ryan smiled. Not the cocky one he used to throw around when he was younger—this one was quieter, older, more worn in.
"Wasn't sure you'd say anything," he said. "Didn't expect it to be 'morning.'"
Elena lifted her mug like a shrug.
"I'm not the same kid you left, Ryan."
"No," he said, eyes flicking to toward the car, then back to her.
"You're not."
She leaned against the car, arms crossed loosely.
Ryan didn't move closer. Just stood there, sipping his own coffee like they were to neighbors catching up instead of two people with yeard of silence between them.
"Didn't expect to find you here," she said finally.
"I didn't expect you'd be here either," he said. "Not still, anyway."
She gave him a sideways glance. "Why not?"
Ryan shrugged, eyes still stracking the Mustang like it might start moving on its own.
"I figured you'd be gone. Somewhere loud and fast. Somewhere this town couldn't hold you anymore."
She didn't answer. Didn't know how to explain that she had planned on it once—and then things happened. Life collapsed in slow motion.
"I heard about your dad," he added, quieter this time.
She looked down into her mug. "Yeah. That happened."
"I should've come sooner."
"Yeah," she said, not cruel or angry. Just... flat.
He nodded like he expected that answer. Took a sip.
They stood like that for a while. Not saying much. Letting whatever passed between them fill the air.
"You kept the shop running," he said.
"Someone had to."
Ryan nodded. "He'd be proud."
That hit something. She didn't let it show.
"Why are you really here?" she asked, finally turning to face him.
Ryan tilted his head like he was about to dodge it, then changed his mind.
"Because i left wrong. And i knew it. And when i heard he was gone, i couldn't let that be the last thing between us."
She didn't say anything. The silence pressed harder now. Not uncomfortable—just full.
"Are you still mad at me?" he asked, eventually.
She breathed out, not quite a sigh.
"I don't think i'm mad anymore," she said. "I think i just stopped expecting anything from you. And that kind of stuck."
Ryan didn't argue. Just nodded once, quiet. "That's fair."
More silence. This one lighter.
His eyes flicked to the car.
"That's not yours, is it?"
She gave a soft, almost-smirk. "No."
"You working on it?"
"Not exactly."
Ryan raised a brow but didn't push.
"That thing's trouble," he said casually.
"Yeah," she murmured. "I figured that out."
He paused, like he might say something more.
But then he just tapped the side of his mug and stepped back toward the gate.
"I'll let you finish that coffee."
"Ryan."
He turned, eyebrows raised.
"You disappear again," she said, "don't bother coming back a second time."
He gave a faint tired smile.
"Wasn't planning on disappearing this time."
And then he was gone.
She stayed outside after he left.
The fence creaked once behind him. Then nothing.
The quiet returned, but it wasn't the same.
She leaned against the Mustang, eyes fixed on the spot where he'd been standing.
Ryan.
Of all people.
She hadn't thought about him in months—maybe years. Not really. Not after he left. And now here he was again, like the space he'd left behind was still shaped for him. Like he could just step back into it.
But it didn't fit.
It was strange, seeing him.
Familiar in all the wrong ways.
He still had that easy calm, that grin that used to work a little too well on everyone.
But something had shifted.
Maybe in him.
Maybe in her.
She didn't know what she was supposed to feel. She only knew it stirred something that hadn't settled yet.
She let out a breath and looked toward the passenger side of the car.
The glovebox felt like it was calling her.
She opened the door, leaned in, popped the latch. The soft click cut through the silence sharper than it should've.
There it was.
The matchbook
Still tucked where she left it.
Still watching her, somehow.
She didn't pick it up.
Just looked at it for a few seconds.
Then shut the glovebox again and stepped away from the car.
She didn't want to think. Not about Ryan.
Not about him.
Not about what any of this was supposed to mean.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She pulled it out without thinking.
Unknown number
one message.
Tonight.
Wear black.
Elena stared at it.
No name.
No time.
No explanation.
She didn't respond, but didn't delete it either.
Her eyes drifted back to the mustang.
It hadn't moved.
But somehow, it felt like the ground underneath her had.
She couldn't tell if the feeling in her chest was dread or something close to excitement.
Maybe both.
She exhaled, low and tight.
Well.
Guess it was time to go tell Carmen about her now made plans.