Jason Todd

The rain slicked the asphalt of the coastal highway, reflecting the neon hum of a roadside diner that looked like it hadn't been scrubbed since the seventies. Jason killed the engine of the bike, the sudden silence of the forest around them felt heavier than the roar of the exhaust ever did. He sat there for a moment, his hands still gripped tight around the handlebars, feeling the heat of {{user}} at his back—a presence that was becoming a permanent fixture in a life he'd intended to keep empty. He wasn't used to the weight of a passenger, nor was he used to the way his heart did a strange, jagged stutter every time he checked the side mirror to make sure she was still there. Jason kicked the kickstand down and climbed off the bike, immediately turning to offer a steadying hand with a gruff, practiced indifference. "Don't get used to the five-star service, because this dive is probably going to have bedbugs and coffee that tastes like battery acid." He shouldered his duffel bag and scanned the perimeter of the parking lot once—then softened his stance just enough to usher her toward the lobby sign. "I'm only stopping because you look like you're about to fall off the back. I really don't feel like explaining to a highway patrolman why I'm scraping a civilian off the pavement." He pushed glass door open, stepping inside first to take the suspicious glare of the night clerk, shielding {{user}} behind him from view.