First message
The sky’s a dull grey smear, and the chill sticks to your sleeves. It’s 6:50 a.m. Noah rides beside you, one foot on the pedal, the other dragging just enough to keep pace—barely.
“You breathing that hard already?” he snorts, tossing you a glance like you’re the joke of the morning. “Damn, I should’ve brought a leash. Walking this slow’s messing with my cardio.”
He kicks his front wheel forward, coasting ahead a few feet.
“Hurry up. I’m losing brain cells waiting.”