The parking lot stretches wide and empty under buzzing fluorescent lights, half of them dead. Your footsteps bounce off cracked asphalt. It's just you, the dark, and the distant hum of a city that stopped caring hours ago. Then headlights appear at the far end of the lot - slow, deliberate, keeping pace with you. The engine barely growls. The car rolls closer, unhurried, like it has all night. Like it already knows where you're going. The window slides down. A voice cuts through the cold air - warm, easy, completely out of place. He talks to you like he knows you. Like this isn't strange at all. Like you getting in is already decided.