Chapter 410

I tapped into the first woman’s profile, following the breadcrumb trail to her name. Nothing special. Private account, regular photos, nothing that screamed troll or attention seeker. I opened Instagram and sent her a friend request, adding a short message explaining that I was doing some research and wanted to ask a few questions if she was comfortable.

Then I did the same for the second woman.

I wasn’t sure if either of them would respond. Most people ignored messages like that, especially from strangers. Still, it was something. More than sitting around and overthinking.

I locked my phone and slipped it into my pocket, leaning back in my chair again and staring at the ceiling.

Two seconds later, my phone rang.

I blinked, then frowned, pulling it back out. Amelia’s name lit up the screen. Right. Driving lessons.

I answered the call. "Hey."

"Hey," Amelia said. "I’m downstairs already. Hope that’s okay."

"Yeah, that’s fine," I replied, glancing at the clock. "Be there in five. You want some coffee?"

"That’d be great, thanks."

"Alright, got it."

I ended the call and stood up, pushing my chair back under the desk. My body felt stiff from sitting too long, so I rolled my shoulders once and took a breath. Work could wait for a few minutes.

Before heading out, I made a quick detour toward Nala’s office. The door was closed, but voices carried faintly through it. I knocked anyway, polite and measured.

"Come in," Nala called.

I stepped inside and immediately clocked Sarah Lin standing across from her desk. Head of marketing. Sharp suit, sharp eyes, the kind of woman who looked like she never wasted a word. They were mid-discussion, judging by the documents spread out between them.

"Sorry to interrupt," I said. "I’m taking a short break. You need anything from me?"

Nala barely looked up from the papers. "Nope. You can go, Mr. Marlowe."

Right. Public mode.

"Oh. Uh," I said, catching myself. "Y-yeah. Mrs. Nolin."

Sarah glanced between us, clearly filing something away mentally. Nala smiled just a little, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. I caught the wink she threw my way and shook my head faintly before turning and leaving.

The hallway felt quieter as I walked toward the elevators. I pressed the button and waited, hands in my pockets, mind drifting again despite my best efforts. The doors opened, and I stepped inside, riding down in silence broken only by the soft hum of the elevator.

When the doors opened again, I stepped out and headed toward the automatic doors at the front of the building. As soon as they slid open, cold air brushed against my face.

It was snowing gently.

Not the aggressive kind that stung your skin or turned sidewalks into death traps. Just soft flakes drifting down lazily, catching the light from streetlamps and dissolving when they touched the ground. The city looked quieter under snow, like it was holding its breath.

I stepped outside, pulling my coat tighter around myself, and scanned the area for Amelia.

Amelia was standing next to my car when I stepped outside, leaning against the passenger-side door with her shoulder, one knee slightly bent. Snow gathered in thin patches along the parking lot lines, the flakes falling slow and lazy like they had nowhere better to be. She was scrolling through her phone, face relaxed, fully in her own world.

I walked toward her, boots crunching softly on the asphalt.

She noticed me just before I reached her, eyes lifting, and she slipped her phone into her pocket with an easy motion. She smiled and gave a small nod, polite, familiar.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," I replied. "Sorry. Got caught up."

"It’s fine," she said. "I wasn’t waiting long."

I stopped in front of her, glanced at the car, then back at her. "Before we start, quick detour."

Her eyebrow lifted. "Uh-oh."

"I’m out of cigarettes," I said. "There’s a supermarket a few minutes from here. We’ll drive there first."

She hesitated for half a second. "Am I... driving?"

I answered by tossing the keys to her.

She fumbled slightly but caught them, staring down at the keys like they’d suddenly become dangerous.

I grinned, stepped forward, gently nudged her away from the passenger door with my shoulder, opened it, and slid into the seat. I shut the door and leaned back like this was completely normal.

Amelia stood there, frozen, keys in hand.

"Oh," she said quietly.

She cleared her throat, then walked around the front of the car, opened the driver’s door, and got in. She shut it carefully, like she didn’t want to anger the vehicle. Her hands hovered over the steering wheel before finally gripping it.

She exhaled. "Okay."

She put the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine came alive with a smooth hum.

"Alright," I said. "Seatbelt."

She clicked it on immediately.

I glanced down, then reached over and grabbed the gear selector.

"One thing," I said.

She looked at my hand. "What?"

"We’re not driving it like a normal automatic."

Her eyes widened. "Evan."

I shifted the gear. "Manual-style."

"There isn’t even a clutch," she said.

"I know," I replied. "That’s the point."

She stared at me. "That makes no sense."

"It does if you imagine one," I said calmly. "Trust me."

She let out a nervous laugh. "I really shouldn’t."

"You’ll be fine," I said. "Alright, listen carefully."

She nodded, shoulders tense.

"Imagine there’s a clutch pedal on the left," I said. "Your brain does most of the work anyway. When you start moving, don’t mash the gas. Ease into it like you’re slowly releasing an invisible clutch."

She blinked. "That’s... ridiculous."

"And it works," I said. "Foot gentle. Smooth pressure. Let the car roll first."

She swallowed. "Okay."

"Go ahead," I said.

She pressed the gas carefully. The car rolled forward, slow and controlled.

"Oh," she said. "That didn’t jerk."

"Exactly," I said. "You eased off the imaginary clutch."

She glanced at me. "I hate that that makes sense."

We rolled through the parking lot, snow crunching under the tires. Amelia’s hands were stiff on the wheel, knuckles pale, posture locked.

"Alright," I said. "Now listen to the engine."

The hum climbed slightly as she picked up speed.

"When it starts sounding like that," I continued, "imagine you’re pressing the clutch in. Ease off the gas just a little, then shift up."

She nodded. "Okay."

The sound rose again.

"Now," I said.

She lifted her foot slightly, shifted, then pressed the gas again.

The transition was smooth.

Her eyes widened. "I didn’t feel anything."

"Because you did it right," I said. "Gas off a bit, shift, gas back on. That’s it."

She let out a shaky laugh. "This feels illegal."

"Welcome to driving," I said.

We reached the edge of the parking lot.

"Signal," I reminded.

She flicked it on immediately.

"Brake gently," I said. "Ease off the gas first, then brake like you’re pressing that imaginary clutch again. You don’t want the car to fight you."

She slowed down, movement controlled.

"Good," I said. "Now turn."

She turned onto the road, snow blurring the edges of the streetlights. Traffic was light, cars moving slow and cautious.

"Okay," I said. "Second gear behavior. Keep it smooth."

The engine tone climbed.

"And shift," I said.

She did it, timing better this time.

"Oh," she said, surprised. "That actually feels... nice. Isn’t this car automatic? I didn’t know it had a manuel mode."

"Some cars have it."

"Well... it goes smooth, yeah?"

"Yep. Because the car isn’t being yanked around," I said. "You’re guiding it."

She shook her head. "Who even drives like this anymore?"

I shrugged. "You never know when you’ll need control."

She snorted softly. "That sounds like something you’d say."

We drove in silence for a bit, snow drifting past the windshield. Amelia relaxed little by little, shoulders dropping, grip loosening.

"So," she said. "You always teach like this?"

"By tricking people into thinking there’s a clutch?" I asked.

She smiled. "Yeah."

"Only when it helps them stop panicking," I said.

"I am still panicking," she said. "Just... quietly."

The engine tone climbed again.

"Shift," I said.

She did it smoothly.

I nodded. "See? You’re already thinking ahead."

She glanced at me, smiling despite herself. "Don’t jinx it."

We stopped at a red light.

"Ease off," I said. "Brake gently. Imagine clutch in."

She did exactly that.

"Perfect," I said.

The light turned green in a few seconds.

"Alright," I said. "Roll first. Gentle gas."

The car moved cleanly.

She let out a breath. "Okay. I get it now."

"Good," I said. "That’s muscle memory starting."

The supermarket sign appeared ahead, glowing softly through the snowfall.

"There," I said. "That’s us."

She nodded. "Okay."

She slowed down, eased off the gas, braked smoothly, then turned into the parking lot. The car barely jolted.

"Nice," I said.

She parked between the lines, not perfect, but solid.

She turned the engine off and leaned back hard against the seat.

"Wow," she said.

I looked at her. "You did great."

She laughed, rubbing her face. "I cannot believe that worked."

"It always does," I said, opening my door. "Come on. Cigarettes."