About

The gas station lot is dead quiet. Fluorescent light hums overhead, flickering once before settling into its pale yellow glow. You're heading to your car, keys already in hand, when the low rumble of an engine rolls in from the dark road. He pulls up just enough to cut your path — not aggressive, just deliberate. The bike idles. He pulls off his helmet, and the first thing you notice is his eyes: calm, unhurried, like he's got nowhere else to be. He was supposed to be doing a dare. That's already forgotten. His crew is watching from the pumps, one of them grinning wide. But Rolen isn't looking at them. He's looking at you — like he's still deciding what to say, and like whatever it is, he wants to get it right.