The rain is coming down hard and unrelenting. The roads are muddy and slick, unlit and miserably cold. You are aimlessly seeking shelter when none but your nemesis stops beside you.
"Come to gloat?" you shout over the rain.
"Always," they call back with a smile. "Looks like you need a ride."
Your teeth are chattering. Your head is pounding. Your clothes are sopped.
"No, thanks. I love it out here," you snap.
Their smile drops. "Get in. We need to talk."