Chapter Text
The bell over the door gave a lonely jingle when Lila pushed it open. It felt unnaturally loud for the time of night.
The place smelled like bacon grease and burned coffee. A light flickered somewhere to her right, like this diner had become trapped forever more in its heyday long before LEDs. Snow clung to her boots, melting into little dark half-moons on the tile. It was after midnight, though she had stopped watching the clock a solid three hours before, and the waitress behind the counter didn’t even look up when the door closed again.
There were only two customers inside: a trucker half-asleep over his pie, and a man sitting alone in the corner booth by the window.
Lila froze halfway to the counter.
Drat. She should have noticed sooner, but the bacon grease had perhaps been a little too cloying.
Asil Moreno didn’t belong in a truck stop in the middle of Idaho. He was supposed to be in Aspen Creek. But there he was: dark coat, stupidly perfect posture, a mug of untouched coffee in front of him.
He looked up when she stopped. His expression didn’t change.
“Sit down, niña.”
“How did you—” Her heart dropped.
“Bran called.” He gestured to the seat across from him. “He said you might stop here, that you are ‘predictable.’”
“I am not.”
“Then it was an excellent guess.” There was a twinkle in his eye that irritated her to no end. “Sit.”
She stomped to the booth and crossed her arms. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here. I’m fine.”
“I’m sure you are,” he agreed, calm as a mountain. “But the state police are looking for a missing fifteen-year-old in a stolen vehicle. The Marrok thought it best that I arrive first.”
“It’s borrowed,” she muttered. “I didn’t steal anything.”
“Ah.” He smiled faintly. “And when your father borrows your things without asking, I assume that you respond with perfect grace?”
“You’re enjoying this.” Lila kicked at the table leg.
“Not at all. I left a warm fire and a good book to collect a runaway child in the middle of the night.” His smile widened. “I did not think we would find you so easy.”
“I’m not a child.” She insisted.
“Humor me, niña,” he leaned back, studying her. “Are you able to reach the pedals without sliding the seat all of the way forward.”
“You’re so old you probably used to have to crank-start your car.” She glared.
That earned her the tiniest laugh.
They sat in silence a while. The waitress poured her a mug of cocoa without asking, gave Asil a look that said good luck, and disappeared again. It made Lila’s blood boil, watching adults exchange looks as if she were the problem here.
Nonetheless, Lila sipped, her eyes darting to the window. The snow was heavier now.
“I wouldn’t try running.” Asil murmured low enough that she didn’t think the sleeping trucker or the waitress could hear him. “I will catch you.”
She ignored him. “You didn’t drive here.”
“I had someone drop me off.”
“So you’re stuck.” She pointed out. “Good luck catching up.”
“No, pup,” Asil said. “You are stuck. I will drive your father’s truck back. You will sleep in the passenger seat. And tomorrow, you will apologize to everyone within shouting distance.”
“I can drive.” She insisted. “I drove here.”
“I have been alive long enough to know that you are not old enough for a license,” Asil disagreed. “And the roads are worse this part of the county than what you have driven back home.”
Lila swallowed and Asil looked at her curiously.
“Did you think the stories that Adam Hauptman’s middle daughter has a habit of stealing vehicles out of her mother’s garage have not made their way to Aspen Creek? Niña, you are pushing the fame of your mother and that is not a compliment.”
“I just wanted to go home.” She tried to set her jaw so that it didn’t quiver. She wanted to cry, but she knew better. “Bran doesn’t yell at me.”
“He also does not have to worry about you dying in a ditch. That is your father’s job and he is very good at it.” Asil’s voice softened. “Aspen Creek is not your home, Lila. You have parents who care very much for you.”
That broke something small inside her. “I wasn’t running away.”
“I know.”
They sat there a long time, the hum of the refrigerator and the hiss of the coffee pot filling the silence.
He stood, dropped enough cash on the table to pay for both of them, and held out his hand. “Keys.”
She hesitated, then slid out of the booth herself and dropped the keys into his palm.
Outside, the wind cut cold and clean across the parking lot. The truck loomed under a layer of frost.
Asil opened the passenger door and waited.
She climbed in, muttering, “You’re worse than my dad.”
He shut the door carefully.
“Good,” he said. “I am under direct orders to make this as truly awful as possible. Maybe you will think twice next time.”