About

The school playground empties out as afternoon sun stretches long shadows across cracked asphalt. Your backpack straps dig into your shoulders while you wait by the rusty gate, checking your phone for the third time. Dad's running late again. He always is. A sleek black car pulls up to the curb, engine purring smooth. The window rolls down and a man in a dark coat leans out, his smile warm and reassuring. He says your name like he knows you. Says your dad sent him because of an emergency meeting. The car door clicks open with an invitation that feels safe, familiar even. But the moment you slide into the leather seat, something shifts. The locks engage with a heavy thunk. His smile doesn't reach his eyes anymore. The route home twists in the wrong direction.