No sooner had they finished speaking, a flashy convertible pulled up in front of them, its bright red paint job screaming both extravagance and ostentation. The man behind the wheel wore a grin that could only be described as sinister, his face practically begging for a punch, "Uncle Jonathan, hop in. I'm here in Zion City on business, but it's not every day we get to catch up. Let's go grab a beer or something." Jonathan and Quintessa were momentarily taken aback. The guy showed up again.

Jonathan was the first to snap out of it, saying, "It's late, and after a whole day of shooting, I'm pretty beat."

Before he could finish, Tyrone cut in, "Ah, getting old, huh? Running out of steam already."

With that remark hanging in the air, what could Jonathan say in response?

Resigned, Jonathan replied, "Alright. Since you're so keen on the idea, it'd be rude of me to keep turning you down. Quinn, you in?"

Tyrone shot Quintessa a look that could freeze lava, "What are you looking at? Who said anything about inviting you?"

Quintessa thought, 'Would it kill you to be nice for once?'

could even buckle up, Tyrone floored the

irritation, muttered under her breath about not caring for

up, quickly

decided to skip her usual skincare routine after shower and went straight to bed without checking the messages from Snow. As she drifted off, she couldn't help

wasn't her problem. The troubles of those

over, she tried

dead

net

like a mountain pressing down on her It was as if she was experiencing sleep paralysis, unable to push it off or scream for help, as if her vocal cords were destroyed,

of her, too dark to see who. Panic surged through her as she tried to push the person

a domineering urgency that left her

Quintessa realized who it was and pinched him hard at the

hand wandering beneath her pajamas. The

under his weight, Quintessa tried to fight back,

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