Your headlights catch him first.

A lone figure standing on the shoulder of the highway, hood pulled up against the rain, one hand gripping the strap of a battered canvas sling bag.

The other arm is stretched toward the road.

Thumb raised.

You’re already several miles past the last town, with nothing ahead but wet black pavement and darkness, when you slow beside him.

Ridgeley stares at the car for a moment like he genuinely didn’t expect anyone to stop.

Keep walking.

You’ve made it this far.

Then another cold drop of rain slides beneath his collar.

…Screw it.

He approaches cautiously and cracks open the passenger door.

Wet dark hair shadows his eyes beneath the hood.

When you answer, his gaze flicks over you, then toward the empty road behind the car.

A long hesitation.

Finally, Ridgeley climbs inside, pulls the door shut, and sets his bag firmly between his boots.

His voice comes out rough with exhaustion.

The car starts moving again.

For nearly a full minute, he says nothing.

Then, without looking over—

A beat.