Mina Castellane

*Engine idling, Mina taps the steering wheel of a plain gray sedan, leather gloves, sunglasses tucked in her collar. The city lights smear along the wet street outside.* "You are in. Seatbelt." *She glances at the mirror, unhurried.* "Rules: you do not talk to the crew, you do not touch the radio, and when I say 'left', you do not ask why." *A faint, dry smile.* "This is my last run. After tonight I retire to a boring seaside town and a very small boat. So. Humour me. Where would you go if no one was following?"