Still feeling the adrenaline fading in waves after the silent death threat, I watch Sam, the psychopath, calmly walk toward the shower. He cleans off his boots, hands me the shower head, and without thinking, I take it.

  Then, he turns his back to me, and the sound of a zipper sliding down breaks the silence. First, the green dress shirt appears — loose, but made of delicate fabric, held by a Y-shaped suspenders strap that fits perfectly over his shoulders. The light subtly reveals the contour of his bones and muscles.

  He unbuckles the raincoat to finish undressing, releasing his loose pants, full of pockets. The high waist, tighter in fit, accentuates the firmness of his build — thin, but far from fragile. He was healthy, and strong, with none of the gym aesthetics, as if his endurance was earned naturally.

  Soon, he hangs the jumpsuit in a hidden cabinet. Inside, a warm ventilation system kicks in under a soft purple light. Nearby, jackets are neatly lined up, and below, compartments for shoes keep everything in perfect order.

  The rain and the TV are the only things filling the space, easing the unsettling silence between us. I stay on edge, watching him, until I conclude: jumpsuit or not, he never allows anything to actually outline his body. Always wrapped in layers and more layers of fabric, he hides himself. But from what?

  Adding that to his reluctance to talk about himself and his overall reserved behavior, I can only conclude that he’s protecting not just his body, but his words too. Every barrier he raises seems like part of a secret he has no intention of revealing.

  It’s going to be weird having dinner with him as our host. At least Ella will help fill the awkward silence.

  He sits on the single step by the door, removing his boots. When he stands, he wipes his palm on his pants, a sign of discomfort, and then adjusts them at the waist.

  Is he this quiet because he’s shy? Does he struggle to deal with people and to communicate with them?

  “Take your shoes off before coming in,” he mutters, refusing to leave an opening for any connection.

  Is he just shy? Antisocial? Does he simply not want us here? Is that really all there is to his rudeness? Is he actually a bad person? He tried to hit me. He hates me. But is it just because he’s annoyed by my mere existence and having to interact with me?

  Yet, he was the one who showed up. The one who helped, without even giving us a chance to call for help. He just helped. Was it simply because he felt it was his duty?

  “Mind if I come in?” He nods, still not facing me. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

  I extend my hand, hoping to make him turn toward me, trying to decipher the truth behind his actions.

  Is he a psychopath pretending to be a good Samaritan, or a good Samaritan who just looks like a psychopath?

  But as soon as he senses my approach, he quickens his pace toward the kitchen counter, where Ella is already eating.

  In any case, better safe than sorry. I’ll be careful with what I eat and keep an eye on him.

  As soon as Ella sees him, she starts talking. He stops beside her, picking up a wine glass. As soon as Sam places it back on the table, his eyes flick to me before quickly looking away. Then, he crosses one arm over his chest, gripping his bicep as if holding himself back from showing unease.

  That just makes me more uncomfortable. I can’t believe I was staring at him the whole time, trying to figure out just how weird Sam was. God, I shouldn’t be staring so much, noticing all these things without even pretending not to. All the bizarre parties and even worse gossip should’ve taught me to be more discreet.

  But this guy is so strange. His demeanor, his nonsensical clothes. Who walks around in a waterproof jumpsuit resembling a regular work uniform? Then again, compared to some designer outfits, this actually seems normal. But who wears that daily? Isn’t he hot under all those layers?

  If the jumpsuit wasn’t strange enough, underneath, he’s wearing something straight out of World War II… a futuristic one, because the fabric, highly detailed, screams high-end.

  None of that excuses me for being rude and staring.

  Only when I finally take off my shoes — still deep in thought — do I notice the subtly lit room.

  Right by the door, Zoe sits with her legs swinging on a small, high two-seater couch. On the opposite side, a screen lowers from the ceiling, facing a cabinet.

  To the right, there’s a massive double-door fridge, followed by an entire industrial kitchen forming a “U” inside the truck.

  In the center, Ella and the man eat snacks on an island that also doubles as a tool cabinet.

  “Where’s daddy?”

  “Finishing up with the bags,” I answer Zoe as she stands up, curious.

  “Daddy, do you need help?” she calls out from the door.

  “No, I’m almost done. Stay there!”

  “The shower’s right through that door on the right,” Ella points behind her.

  Of course, Ella would be the one playing host. No way he’d bother to explain anything to me. Sam probably didn’t even give me half the courtesy he gave my cousin.

  I cross the room quickly and, upon reaching the wall, find no doorknob. A panel slides open automatically. I step inside the small square space, the light turns on, and the door closes behind me, sending a wave of claustrophobia through me.

  Ahead, I see a password-protected door; to the right, a vertical handle with an arrow pointing left. I follow the instructions, and it slides, folding into the wall.

  Weird bathroom. Entirely monochromatic, with only a small standing area and a shower right by the entrance. A counter with an embedded ladder takes up the rest of the space.

  I turn on the shower, noticing it’s set quite low. Ella must’ve adjusted it. The man is nearly my height. When I touch the showerhead, it falls, hanging by the hose just inches from the floor.

  Oh, shit, I broke it. I quickly inspect the base and realize it’s actually a giant detachable showerhead. I exhale in relief.

  That’s all I need — breaking his stuff. I’ve already embarrassed myself by showing up unprepared, using a pink plastic shovel. Meanwhile, he came fully equipped with every tool imaginable. Then, besides being useless, I’m a clumsy burden who fell in front of his chainsaw. And now, as soon as I step into his home, I break something. Thank God that wasn’t the case.

  I position it correctly and adjust the base to be higher.

  Enjoying the warm shower, I observe my reflection in the mirrored glass ceiling. Water streams down my body, highlighting muscles I've spent years sculpting — a physique often compared to Greek statues by admirers who never see the disciplined routine behind it.

  The motel-like lighting surrounding the mirror makes me pause. Are there cameras hidden here? With all these reflections, he could capture perfect footage from any angle. For blackmail? To sell online?

  It seems contradictory — a man this reserved with an entirely mirrored bathroom. Is he secretly a narcissist?

  But the slight tilt of the mirrors reveals their actual purpose: skylights designed to let steam escape while keeping rain out. Still, mirrors everywhere?

  Perhaps they're just practical — making this claustrophobic space feel larger. The interior definitely seems more spacious than the truck appeared from outside.

  Not a narcissist, then. But he could have cameras. Damn, Ella and Zoe showered here…

  No, probably no cameras. But if there are... with my resources, my lawyers, my fans — I'd make him regret ever considering it. Especially after Ella and Zoe used this shower.

  The bathtub must be hidden inside this counter. Small, but probably deep. Curious, I find a way to lift the cover at the corner of the first seat.

  It’s a single-person Ofuro, where the water level rises. On the tray crossing the tub, dried fruits and a glass of wine are already set out.

  Sam is undeniably strange, but he clearly knows how to appreciate life’s comforts.

  When I exit the shower, I spot Wally by the door, munching on popcorn while watching a movie with his daughter. Under Zoe, tucked into the sofa, behind a glass panel, the dog is drying off, its fur fluffed up and wild.

  Sam approaches the corner of the kitchen, against the bathroom wall, carrying two glasses of wine.

  “Now, let’s try the rosé,’ Ella suggests.

  The man sets one of the glasses on the side counter, from which a thin stream of wine suddenly sprays out.

  Well, if he drugged Ella’s wine, it’s too late now. At least he seems to be drinking the same thing.

  Once Wally notices me, he grins excitedly and quickly rushes to the bathroom.

  Before I can get any closer to Ella, a robotic vacuum emerges from under the cabinet, cleaning up the trail of drops Wally left behind.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  This trailer is… interesting.

  “Antipasto?” The man gestures toward the wooden board filled with cheeses, dried fruits, cured meats, bread, and various spreads. He speaks with such seriousness and a complete lack of expression that, instead of Batman in the Batmobile, he reminds me more of his butler.

  “This wine is incredible, you have to try it, JJ. Where did you get it?”

  “A small vineyard on the way.” He picks up a piece of brie.

  “Is it from around here? Close by?” For safety, I move toward the board and grab a piece of cheese near the one he took.

  “Yes. About 2.000 kilometers west.”

  “That’s not exactly close for me.” Ella widens her eyes and laughs, amused.

  “Mom, we’re out of popcorn!” Zoe approaches, holding her small empty bowl, then glances at the man, curiosity evident in her eyes.

  She wants to know more about him too. In fact, her curiosity and eagerness to get closer to him are what brought us here in the first place. A risky and somewhat awkward dinner — though with a hot shower, clean clothes, and a comfortable space, it has its perks.

  “Why don’t we try something different before the lasagna?” Ella suggests, pointing at some of the cheeses.

  Zoe pulls something from the side of the island, revealing a fold-out stool. I follow her lead while Ella helps her up.

  Now settled, Zoe watches the man intently as he pops a small piece of bread into his mouth in one bite, chewing carefully, and nodding in approval.

  Noticing her stare, the man points at his mouth as he chews, then gestures for her to do the same.

  “What’s this spread?”

  “Crème fra?che,” he replies.

  “And these little balls?”

  “Caviar.” He finishes preparing a small toast. “One bite.”

  He hands her the bread, and she obediently takes it all in one go.

  “Well?” Ella asks, curious.

  “The little balls explode in your mouth,” Zoe replies, furrowing her brow in intrigue as she chews.

  “Good, right?” Sam asks, preparing another bite.

  Zoe’s eyes light up as she nods, stretching out her hand expectantly.

  Silence lingers as they continue eating. Ella watches in astonishment as Zoe happily indulges in the different delicacies under the man’s influence.

  With the almost brotherly way Sam looks at my niece, I’m not too worried about her eating — she’s probably safer here than I am, considering all the death glares he keeps shooting my way.

  Is it just me, or is silence unbearable?

  Sitting next to the man’s rigid posture — somehow growing more intimidating by the second — I regret choosing this seat. But as they say: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. I just need to eat whatever he eats.

  On top of enduring his suffocating stiffness, he manages to take a quick look at everything… except me.

  With each passing second, it feels like he believes I don’t even deserve his gaze, let alone his words. It’s insulting.

  “Good thing you showed up to help us,” I try provoking him, wanting — no, needing — him to look at me. It’s driving me crazy, to be dismissed by someone who doesn’t even know me.

  “It was a one-way road.”

  “And?” I narrow my eyes, waiting for him to form an actual answer — preferably one with more words than I can count on my fingers.

  “I figured something had happened,” he replies, staring at his wine glass before taking a sip.

  “You saw us at the scenic deck and knew the road had no way back. Then night fell, we never made it to the campsite, and you got worried, deciding to come after us. How kind of you,” Ella speculates, attempting to smooth things over.

  “Anyone who’s been in a similar situation would’ve done the same,” he responds to Ella with warm politeness—a stark contrast to the arctic winter he reserves just for me.

  Okay, maybe he’s not that bad.

  “Thank you,” Ella says.

  The man offers a small, easygoing smile, shaking his head dismissively.

  “No need to thank me.” For the first time, his actions match his words — light, unburdened — when Ella touches his hand.

  Now, feeling a bit more at ease around him, my shoulders finally relax — tense from forcing myself to sit as far away from him as possible, despite being right next to him.

  “Even so, thanks,” I add, trying to lighten the mood between us.

  His gaze follows my movement, piercing through me with an icy intensity that freezes me up all over again.

  What the hell is this guy’s problem with me?

  The unbearable silence creeps back in — until Ella breaks the ice with her usual charm. “I don’t know much about cars. We had it checked, everything seemed fine, and based on recommendations, they said a 4x4 could handle this road.”

  “But it’s not equipped for off-road conditions, let alone in the rain.” The man’s gaze softens slightly as if he’s lowering his guard just a fraction, though he still holds onto that distant aura.

  Does he only act like this with women? Is he flirting with Ella? But he wasn’t this cold with Zoe… or even with Wally… so the problem seems to be me.

  “We’ll be more careful about that,” Ella admits, looking down — probably feeling guilty for choosing this route.

  “But how were we supposed to know it would rain? My tablet didn’t say it would. It always tells me,” Zoe chimes in, as if the logic of her device is a perfectly reasonable excuse, trying to ease the tension.

  “The last time you had service was probably before crossing the mountains to the coast.” For the first time, Sam’s voice carries a more human tone — like he’s finally letting go of that cold, distant fa?ade.

  “What does the mountain have to do with the rain?” Zoe asks, her tone suggesting a whirlwind of follow-up questions is coming — probably irritating this man, who already seems grumpy and unwilling to engage.

  “The mountain acts as a barrier,” he replies curtly, still focused on the bread before him as if the conversation were just a minor interruption to his meal.

  “So the mountain makes it rain more?” Zoe presses on, her curious gaze fixed on him, as if getting an explanation were a personal mission.

  I try to intervene before she annoys him further. “You'll learn this in school one day.”

  But, surprisingly, Sam decides to answer. “During the day, the Sun heats the land faster than the ocean.” He’s still distracted by the bread. “This happens because different materials absorb and lose heat at different rates.”

  As if a four-year-old would understand that. So when he does decide to speak, he chooses the most complicated way, discussing something she won't even grasp?

  Finally, he looks up at Zoe. “For example: when you go to the pool in the morning, what’s warmer — the pavement around it or the water?” He smiles, encouraging her to respond, genuinely interested in the conversation.

  Zoe furrows her brows, thinking carefully. “The pool is usually icy in the morning.”

  “Exactly. The same thing happens with land and the ocean. The land heats up faster, which means the air above it also gets warmer and rises. Ever seen a hot air balloon? What makes it go up?”

  “It has fire inside,” Zoe says enthusiastically, pleased to know the answer.

  “That's right. Hot air is less dense, so it becomes lighter and rises.” He gestures over the stack of bread with unexpected excitement. “But when the air rises, it leaves an empty space behind, and the cooler air around it moves in to take its place. During the day, this cool air comes from the ocean to the land, creating what's called a sea breeze. That breeze also carries moisture from the ocean.” He waves his hand dramatically from the wine to the bread, clearly lost in his own thoughts like a lunatic.

  He’s an introverted nerd with the vibe of a psychopath.

  “The warm air over the land is already humid, and that breeze brings even more moisture.”

  “So the air gets loaded with water vapor,” Ella chimes in, and Sam nods in confirmation. She beams, proud of herself.

  “Exactly. And when the air is heavy with moisture and meets a mountain, it can’t just keep going straight. The only way is up.”

  “And since it’s high humidity in a low-pressure system… meaning the air is rising… and since the higher it goes, the colder it gets—”

  “Why does it get colder the higher you go? It’s closer to the Sun,” Zoe asks, scratching her head, confused.

  Honestly, I don’t really know how to explain it. I just learned it somewhere, so I know it’s true. Planes and mountains are colder.

  “It's not quite like that. Gravity pulls everything toward the Earth's center. The closer to the center, the more particles. The farther away, the fewer particles.”

  “Particles?” Zoe looks puzzled.

  “Imagine lots of tiny balls in the air, which we breathe and live among, and they’re also pulled down by gravity. It’s like we’re constantly walking through a ball pit. And the farther from Earth’s center you go, the fewer balls there are. The fewer balls there are, the less heat they can hold because they’re more spread out, right?”

  “When I hid at the bottom of a ball pit for a long time, it was sweltering. I was sweating,” Zoe recalls.

  “Exactly. The lower you go, the higher the pressure and the less expansion of air. The opposite happens when you go higher.”

  “And what does that have to do with today's rain?”

  “On hot days like today, much more water vapor builds up. And on this side of the mountain, we’re facing the ocean, so there’s even more moisture being carried in by the sea breeze, as I explained earlier. Now, imagine all that moisture being pushed by the wind against the mountain. The only way for it to go is up. And when water vapor rises, it condenses into droplets and falls as rain.”

  “Condenses and rains?”

  “When you take a shower, the steam hits the cold mirror and turns into water droplets. When water vapor rises and meets colder temperatures, it condenses.”

  “Forms tiny droplets and then rains,” Zoe concludes, satisfied that she understands.

  “Yes, exactly. That’s why the mountain was important. A barrier. That’s why the weather forecast was different on this side of the mountain than on the other.”

  “That makes sense,” Zoe says, considering, as she bites into another piece of bread with caviar.

  “Interesting. Are you a teacher?” I ask.

  “No.” His response is sharp, clearly excluding me from the conversation, as always, with short and uninterested answers.

  “But…”

  He cuts me off, and I clench my fist in frustration. “Anyone knows this.”

  I wouldn’t know... how to explain.

  “So, it was kind of predictable that it would rain,” Ella considers as I suppress my rising anger, relaxing my clenched fists. “And since we don’t have much experience, we weren’t exactly prepared for this road.”

  “That would help, but I can’t stand cars that break down when you need them most — modified or not.” The man softens slightly as he once again excludes me from the conversation.

  “Starting today, I hate them too,” Ella says, pursing her lips in mock anger. Sam offers her a gentle smile, his eyes radiating a genuine warmth toward my cousin.

  I clench my teeth in frustration. “I saw you at the gas station.” You’re not going to ignore me. I’m here.

  “Really?” Zoe leans forward on the table, intrigued.

  “Everyone traveling this route stops there.” Then his whole demeanor shifts — instantly shutting down again just because I decided to talk to him.

  But a second later, a smug smile tugs at his lips as he places a hand theatrically over his chest. “Oh, should I feel honored that you remember my presence amid all that… commotion?”

  Just like at the gas station, his gesture screams sarcasm.

  Ella laughs out loud at the unexpectedly satirical jab from the usually withdrawn man.

  The oven timer goes off, saving Sam like the bell at the end of a boxing round.

  I was about to fight back with a sharp response that I missed the chance to deliver earlier.

  Now, after everything, I have plenty to say — but I hold back, because he helped us.

  But if he doesn’t respect me, I have no obligation to respect him either. And I sure as hell don’t have to sit here in silence.

  I’ve spent too much time walking on eggshells, choosing every word carefully, holding back, giving him space so he wouldn’t feel pressured to answer, never openly questioning the disdain he so clearly has for me — all just to keep the peace. But this unbearable bastard won’t even pretend to be civil, deliberately making me uncomfortable. And it’s painfully obvious that he’s perfectly capable of being sociable when he wants to be. He’s being an asshole to me on purpose.

  Enough. If I’ve been careful not to break these eggs until now, it’s time to pick them up and start throwing them.