Milena Velba Car Wash -

Inside the diner, her phone buzzed. A text from a number she didn't recognize: "We saw everything. Meet at the cemetery. Midnight. Bring the drive. Don't be late."

She opened the driver's door. The leather creaked. The air inside was stale, sweet with cigar smoke and something metallic. She leaned over the seat to inspect the floor mat. Her heavy, wet curls brushed the steering wheel. As she reached down, her fingertips found the white object: a thumb drive, no bigger than her last knuckle, etched with a single, tiny numeral: 7 .

Now, the interior.

He got back in the car, cranked the engine, and left a patch of rubber on her clean concrete. The thumb drive was already tucked into her bra, warm against her heart. She watched the plum-colored Charger disappear onto the highway.