After almost two years of wandering through the city’s shadowy streets, Zora felt she had become quite the expert on late-night rides. She had transported home lively bachelorette parties, tired students rushing to study for exams, and business folks struggling with their briefcases after a few too many martinis. She was familiar with the pulse of the midnight streets and the uneasy quiet that lingered before dawn more than anyone else, and she had become skilled at sensing a passenger’s mood even before they slipped into the back seat.

On that brisk November evening, Zora’s aging taxi smoothly navigated the almost deserted streets. A light drizzle settled on the windshield, while the glow of far-off neon signs shimmered in the shallow puddles below. The baby kicked once more, little limbs pushing against her ribs. At eight months pregnant, spending hours in that driver’s seat was turning into quite the challenge. But Zora really needed those tips—her bills weren’t going to pay themselves. Not now, especially not after the chaos her ex had created.

“Just a few more hours,” she whispered, gently caressing the curve of her belly. “After that, we’ll head back home to Smokey.”