Ethan had been riding for nearly six hours.
His black touring bike vibrated steadily beneath him as he rolled along the empty road, the engine sound echoing through the desert valley. Riding alone had become a habit for him ever since he left the Army five years earlier. Out here, the silence helped clear his mind in ways crowded cities never could.
But even Ethan knew there were certain places travelers avoided after dark.
The Silver Dune Gas Station was one of them.
The station had once served truck drivers and long-distance travelers decades earlier, back when the highway carried more traffic. Now it stood half-forgotten, a small building surrounded by rusted pumps and flickering lights that buzzed weakly in the desert wind.
Most drivers passed it without slowing down.
Ethan only stopped because his fuel gauge dipped lower than he liked.
