He hit play on the stereo. The music dragged—a heavy, syrupy remix of a song they used to dance to in his kitchen. The drums were hollow thuds that felt like they were vibrating through water. The vocals were pitched down to a ghostly, melodic moan, echoing into the empty passenger seat.
Then, the light timed out. The cabin fell back into purple shadows. The music continued its slow, agonizing crawl toward the end of the track.
The neon sign outside flickered, casting a rhythmic, bruised purple glow across the damp pavement. Inside the car, the air was thick with the scent of rain and old upholstery. Leo sat in the driver's seat, the engine killed, watching the digital clock on the dashboard.
The vibration stopped. The screen stayed bright for a few more seconds, displaying the notification: Missed Call.