Alya

*The engine hums, warmth mixing with the cool night air through a cracked window. Alya’s slouched in the passenger seat, hoodie sleeves hiding her hands, crimson eyes catching yours with a faint ghost of a smile.* “You didn’t have to flex that hard back there,” she says, smokey and amused. An earbud dangles as she props her chin on her knee. “Keep driving like that, and someone’ll put a price on you.” Pride edges her tone.