He slid into the driver’s seat, the door clicking shut behind him with a satisfying thunk.
The engine purred to life under his fingers, low and smooth — almost smug, like it knew it was about to glide through the best parts of LA with the city dressed in its golden-hour best.
One hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the volume, Rex eased away from the curb with practiced calm.
The sun had started its slow descent, casting long shadows and flooding the streets in streaks of amber and lavender. Storefronts looked like they were painted in liquid gold. Windows reflected the sky like fragments of a dying flame.
He tapped the steering wheel absently, rhythm syncing with the beat of the playlist — something cool and modern, just enough bass to match the mood.
Seraphina’s directions glowed on the navigation screen, pointing him toward some ultra-fancy hotel tucked near Beverly Hills — the kind of place where they probably charged you fifty bucks just to stand on the marble floors and breathe without a tie on.
Still, he wasn’t in a rush. Traffic was smooth. The streets had that weirdly peaceful hum LA got when the chaos quieted for a second. Just enough warmth in the air to keep the windows cracked, just enough time to breathe, chill, get groomed, and roll up to the party like the main character he obviously was.
The light ahead turned red. He coasted to a stop, leaned back in the seat, arm resting casually on the window frame, sunglasses catching the warm glow of the late-afternoon sun. LA moved lazily around him — honks, chatter, the occasional distant roar of a motorcycle.
His finger tapped lightly on the wheel in rhythm with the music spilling from the stereo. Nothing intense. Just a low, jazzy beat. Something cool, something smooth. He had time. Hotel was fifteen minutes away. Traffic wasn’t terrible. The sky was painted in that golden blend of peach and fire you only got for five minutes before sunset.
All in all, vibe: immaculate.
His gaze drifted lazily on the road as he looked at cars beside him, then toward the sidewalk across the intersection.
That’s when he saw her.
Off to the side of the intersection, standing perfectly still on the sidewalk.
No taller than a fire hydrant, dressed in pink with lace socks and light-up sneakers.
She couldn’t have been older than five.
Clutching a big, floppy plush bear nearly half her size, fur scuffed and ears drooping like they’d been loved a little too hard. She clutched it tightly in her arms like it was her last lifeline.
Her whole posture screamed lost.
Her big, glassy eyes shimmered under the sunlight, wide and unblinking, scanning the street like she was searching for something—or someone— Maybe a parent. Maybe a sibling. Maybe someone who was supposed to show up but hadn’t.
The kind of look that made your chest tighten without knowing why.
Rex’s brow creased, just a little. His fingers paused their tapping.
He tilted his head, studying her. Her mouth moved a little. Maybe whispering something to the bear? Her hand gripped its paw tighter.
Still, maybe her mom was just inside grabbing something. Maybe she wandered a few steps too far.
Let’s see if someone shows up for her while I’m stuck at this red light, he thought, eyes flicking to the side.
Even though he didn’t particularly like kids—too loud, too sticky, too unpredictable—there was something about this one. Maybe it was the way she clutched that oversized plush bear like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth. Or maybe it was her face—those big, glassy eyes brimming with a quiet kind of panic. Not crying, not screaming... just standing there. Alone. Waiting.
Rex tapped the steering wheel again, uneasy now. If no one shows up in the next few seconds... he’d have to go check it out.
Because even someone like him, who’d never had much faith in humanity, couldn’t just drive off with that image burned into his rearview mirror.
He glanced back at the traffic light, while keeping an eye on the kid.
His gaze drifted lazily across the street again—
A car. Far off but moving too fast for this street.
He barely registered it at first. A silver sedan coming from the opposite side. It weaved slightly in its lane, tires skimming a little too loose on the pavement. The kind of driving you see at 2 a.m., not during golden hour.
Rex squinted slightly.
For a moment, Rex barely gave it a second glance.
Probably just some overconfident teenager behind the wheel—revving through city streets like they were born on a racetrack. LA had no shortage of those.
The setting sun bounced off the sedan’s windshield, throwing glare across its surface. But even through the shimmer, he could barely make out the driver’s silhouette.
Slouched. Head bobbing.
The guy wasn’t just tired. He was out of it. One hand hung loosely on the wheel, the other nowhere to be seen. His head lolled slightly with the car’s motion, like he was struggling to stay upright. Every few seconds, it dipped—then jerked back up.
Rex’s brow furrowed, fingers tightening just a little on the wheel.
And very clearly wasted.
He frowned. But didn’t do much more.
Probably, yeah. It’s LA—happens more than anyone likes to admit.
He clicked his tongue, sighing through his nose.
Stupid? Yeah. But not shocking.
People drove buzzed all the time. Idiots doing idiot things. As long as they didn’t crash into anything—or anyone—most folks just turned a blind eye. He wasn’t a cop. He wasn’t their babysitter. Normally, he wouldn’t do more than throw a disapproving glance, maybe mutter a sarcastic comment.
Not a slow drift. Not the kind of lazy sway you’d expect from a sleepy driver.A sudden, unnatural snap to the left. Like a puppet string yanked mid-step.
The wheels shrieked as the sedan lurched across the lane— Content originally comes from N0v3l.Fiɾe.net
The driver’s head drooped even lower, chin nearly hitting the wheel.Hands nowhere near ten-and-two. Not even near anything.That wasn’t just drunk.
That was dead weight behind the wheel.
The sedan tore over the divider.
It jerked left, wheels catching the edge of the lane with a scream of rubber.
One second it was gliding down the street like every other car,the next—it veered.
A violent swerve across the painted line, skipping clean over the divider like it didn’t exist.
Straight toward the shoulder.
Straight toward the sidewalk.