If there was one universal truth about travel, it was this: eventually, you’d have to rent a car.

  Whether it was vacation, work, or your car in the shop, people needed wheels. And because people needed wheels, rental car companies existed.

  Steven never thought he’d be working for one. Yet here he was—ten years out of college, twenty-eight years old, and climbing the corporate ladder in car rentals. He was good at it. Really good. Sales came naturally, and after enough upselling on insurance packages and dealing with cigarette-burned upholstery, he’d carved out a stable role in fleet remarketing.

  He’d made peace with it. Kind of. The money was decent now. The hours were better than the early days. But still, a quiet voice in his head sometimes whispered, This wasn’t what you dreamed of, was it?

  And that voice had been particularly loud lately, with the holidays looming.

  He’d grown up in the Chicago suburbs, but now lived and worked in Milwaukee. His younger sister Lucy, twenty-five, had stayed closer to home. She worked as a nurse at a local hospital and was the kind of person everyone liked—calm, caring, a little sarcastic when she was tired.

  The family had been overdue for real time together, so this year, they’d finally made it happen. A holiday rental by Lake Geneva. Just the four of them. A week to reconnect.

  Steven looked at the clock—5:04 p.m.—then grabbed his coat and keys. An hour later, he pulled up to the snow-dusted cottage nestled in the trees. Warm yellow light glowed from the windows. Smoke curled from the chimney.

  He knocked twice.

  Mom opened the door and beamed. “Steven! You made it!”

  He grinned and stepped inside, letting the warmth hit his face. “Of course I made it. Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “I’m so glad this finally worked out,” she said, hugging him tight. “It’s been too long.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. Work’s been... you know.”

  “Busy. Always.” She patted his shoulder. “Well, you’re here now.”

  “Steven!” Lucy called from the living room. “Finally showed up. We’ve been waiting to start the game.”

  Steven peered past her and saw their dad sound asleep in an armchair, a home renovation show playing quietly on the TV.

  “Oh, yeah,” Lucy said with a smirk. “He’s been dying to play.”

  “So,” she continued, waving at the board game already half set up, “are we settling new lands or building trains tonight?”

  “Trains,” Mom and Steven said at the same time.

  “Less arguing,” Mom added. “And easier to snack during.”

  They gathered around the table, Lucy passing out game pieces while Mom sliced up cheese and crackers. It was cozy, casual—the kind of scene they hadn’t had in far too long.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  As the game picked up steam, so did the banter.

  “You landed on my line again,” Lucy said, raising an eyebrow.

  Steven shrugged. “You built it in my way.”

  “I built it efficiently.”

  “You built it out of spite.”

  “You’re not wrong.”

  Mom poured herself a cup of tea, watching with amusement. “You two haven’t changed at all.”

  “Still bickering like it’s middle school,” Lucy said. “To be fair, he cheated at Monopoly for years.”

  Steven raised his hands. “That was one time. And it was strategic investing.”

  They kept playing, laughing, trading light jabs. And then came the moment Mom had clearly been waiting for.

  “Alright,” she said, reaching into a shopping bag. “Pajama time.”

  Steven looked up. “Wait, seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously. Matching pajamas are a thing now. I got us all a set.”

  She tossed him a pair covered in cartoon Santas and reindeer.

  He held them up and started laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Put them on. It’s family tradition now.”

  Still chuckling, Steven headed to change. “This better not end up on Instagram.”

  When he returned, Mom gave him a satisfied nod. “Perfect.”

  They played another round, now festively dressed. At some point, the conversation shifted.

  “Did either of you apply for that grant I sent you?” Mom asked.

  “I’ve been meaning to,” Steven said. “Work’s been a mess.”

  Lucy shook her head. “It’s for full-time students. I’ve got clinicals, remember?”

  “Right. Just checking,” Mom said. “You know me—walking bulletin board.”

  A moment later, Steven groaned as Lucy blocked one of his train routes.

  “You know what I miss?” he said. “Sleeping in.”

  “You’re still working crazy hours?” Mom asked.

  He nodded. “Comes with the territory. But Lucy’s the real overachiever. You should’ve seen her when she first got hired.”

  Lucy groaned. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  Steven grinned. “She cried in the car.”

  “I had allergies!”

  They all laughed, the sound filling the small cottage.

  Then static crackled from the corner. The television, which had been playing quietly in the background, suddenly switched to a black screen. A sharp tone blared.

  Emergency Alert: Take Immediate Cover

  Unidentified object on imminent collision course with Earth

  Everyone froze. The message repeated. Then the screen changed to a live broadcast—a suited anchor at a desk, pale-faced and grim.

  “As of four minutes ago, sensors have confirmed the presence of a large unidentified object entering Earth’s atmosphere. Early estimates suggest a meteor ranging between 100 to 200 miles in diameter.”

  “What does that mean?” Steven asked.

  Lucy turned to look at their dad, who had woken up and was now sitting upright, silent.

  “Anything bigger than 20 miles,” he said slowly, “could be a planet-killer.”

  The anchor continued, voice unsteady. “We do not know how this object evaded detection. It appeared suddenly, as though out of nowhere. Impact is expected within the hour. We advise all citizens to—”

  The screen cut out.

  The lights in the cottage flickered once, then went dark.

  Silence.

  Only the fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across their faces. No one moved. No one spoke.

  Then Mom reached across the table, tears in her eyes, and took both their hands.

  Steven looked at Lucy.

  She looked back.