Late one night on Highway 42, the narrator noticed a white sedan pulled onto the shoulder, its hazard lights blinking in the dark. Exhausted and tempted to keep driving, they nearly passed by — until they spotted a teenage girl crouched beside a rear tire, crying and glancing anxiously toward the woods. Something in her posture cut through the fatigue, and the narrator turned the car around. As they approached, the girl sprang to her feet, gripping a tire iron and shouting that she had mace. Her fear was immediate and raw. The narrator raised their hands, identifying themselves as...
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