The driver doesn’t look away.
“…but they were already inside.”
Silence.
The woman slowly reaches for the door handle.
PART 2
Her hand rested on the handle.
Not opening it yet.
Just holding it.
“You’re saying what, exactly?” she asked.
The driver didn’t rush.
He kept his eyes on the mirror.
“Last week,” he said, “I picked up a woman. Late. Same area as you.”
She didn’t respond.
“She gave me that exact address,” he continued. “Same building. Same entrance.”
The street outside felt quieter now.
“I dropped her off,” he said. “She got out. Walked inside. I watched her go through the door.”
A pause.
“Ten minutes later, my phone rang.”
The woman swallowed.
“Same number.”
She leaned forward slightly.
“And?”
The driver exhaled.
“She asked me where I was.”
The woman blinked.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I told her I had just dropped her off,” he said.
“And?”
His hands tightened slightly on the wheel.
“She said… she never made it inside.”
Silence.
The woman’s fingers tightened on the handle.
“That could be confusion,” she said quickly. “Or a mistake.”
“Maybe,” the driver replied.
“But I stayed there.”
She looked up.
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t leave,” he said. “I waited outside the building.”
The air in the car felt heavier.
“No one came out,” he added.
“Not her. Not anyone.”
A long pause.
“Then what happened?” she asked quietly.
The driver looked straight ahead.
“The lights started going off.”
She froze.
“Floor by floor,” he said.
“Like someone was shutting the building down.”
Silence.
“Then my phone rang again.”
Her voice dropped.
“Same number?”
He nodded.
“But I didn’t answer.”
The woman didn’t say anything.
She opened the door.
Stepped out slowly.
Stood there for a moment.
Looking at him.
At the car.
At the empty street.
Then she closed the door.
And walked away.
Fast.
—
Later that night, the driver sat parked alone.
Engine off.
Street quiet.
He checked his phone.
Missed calls.
Unknown number.
Three times.
Same pattern.
He stared at it.
Then turned the phone face down.
And didn’t pick up another ride.
—
The next morning, he heard the address mentioned on the radio.
Riverside Complex.
Building 12.
Not an emergency.
Not a confirmed crime.
Just an ongoing investigation.
Quiet.
Unclear.
He didn’t need more details.
Because for him—
It wasn’t about proof.
It was about instinct.
And sometimes—
That was enough to say no.
