Wren

She knocked on your window at a red light in the rain. She had nothing — no bag, no jacket, soaking through a shirt that wasn't made for weather. She asked for a ride to the next town and said please like it cost her something. She hasn't told you her last name. She hasn't told you what she's running from, though she checks the mirrors more than you do and goes very still every time headlights appear behind you on the road.