The booth's radio sputtered one final update before falling silent: "Severe dust storm conditions expected to worsen through early morning hours. Highway 16 remains closed until further notice. All travelers should seek immediate shelter..."

  Steve checked his watch again, illuminating the dial with his phone's dwindling battery. 12:17 AM. Nearly eight hours until the SkyTech meeting, but without power, without connection, without his precious Nexus assistant to organize his thoughts and polish his presentation, those hours might as well be minutes. The dust continued its relentless assault on the booth, particles striking the windows like tiny bullets, working their way through invisible cracks to form thin layers on every surface.

  "Dammit," he muttered, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm on the counter. "There has to be a way to charge this thing."

  He'd already torn apart every drawer, inspected every corner of the booth for a working outlet, a forgotten charger, anything that might provide the lifeline he needed to salvage his presentation. The toolbox he'd found offered nothing useful— just basic screwdrivers, pliers, and a hammer that couldn't build an electrical connection from nothing.

  Time was slipping away, and with it, PulseSync's future. The SkyTech deal wasn't just another partnership; it was salvation. Without it, his company would collapse within weeks. Faces flickered through his mind: Paula, who’d just signed a new apartment lease; Anton, who had two kids and a mortgage; even the nameless interns who came and went. All their futures, all his sweat and sleepless nights, balanced on the thin edge of a battery icon and a dust storm. Two years of eighteen-hour days would amount to nothing. His reputation in the tech world would be irreparably damaged.

  Headlights suddenly pierced the swirling darkness outside, cutting weak paths through the storm. Steve straightened, hope flaring briefly in his chest. Another vehicle meant another person, potential help, maybe even a ride to somewhere with electricity and internet.

  The lights grew closer, moving slowly along the highway's shoulder, eventually pulling alongside his abandoned rental car. Steve pressed his face against the booth's window, squinting through the dust-coated glass. A sedan, dark-colored from what he could make out, stopped near his vehicle. The driver's door opened, a figure emerging into the swirling chaos, wrapped in what appeared to be a scarf and coat against the elements.

  Steve moved to the door, hesitating only briefly before stepping outside. The dust hit him instantly, stinging exposed skin, working its way into his lungs with each breath.

  "Hello?" he called, voice barely audible above the storm's howl. "Over here!"

  The figure turned, noticing him in the dim light spilling from the booth. They approached cautiously, picking their way through the dust-shrouded terrain with careful steps.

  As the stranger drew closer, Steve could make out a woman's form beneath the protective layers. She lowered the scarf covering her face, revealing features young but somehow weathered, like stone smoothed by persistent water. Her eyes caught what little light remained, reflecting back something deeper than mere concern for a stranded traveler.

  "Hey," she called, voice clear despite the storm's rage. "Are you okay out here? Saw your car back there."

  "Car died," Steve responded, wind snatching at his words. "I'm trying to find a way to charge my phone. Critical business meeting in the morning."

  The woman nodded, something like understanding passing across her face. "I'm Riley," she said, extending a gloved hand. "Riley Tanner."

  "Steve Warrick," he replied, accepting the handshake. The contact felt oddly grounding amid the chaos of the storm. "CEO of PulseSync."

  The title slipped out automatically, his standard introduction at networking events and business meetings. Here, stranded in a dust storm, it sounded absurdly formal. Riley didn't seem to notice, or at least didn't comment.

  "You should come back inside," she suggested, nodding toward the booth. "This storm's getting worse."

  They retreated to the relative shelter of the small structure, closing the door against the howling wind. Inside, the dust had already begun to settle on every surface, a fine earth coating that transformed the booth into some abandoned relic despite Steve's short absence.

  Riley unwound the scarf from her neck, revealing more of her face. She was younger than Steve had first assumed—early twenties, maybe. Yet when their eyes met, there was something steady there, a certain patience and depth that made her seem older, as if she’d spent years waiting out storms like this. She surveyed the booth with quiet attention, gaze lingering on the broken lock, the scattered tools, the signs of Steve's desperate search.

  "Broke in?" she asked, no judgment in her tone.

  "Had to," Steve answered, suddenly self-conscious about the evidence of his forced entry. "My phone's almost dead, and I need to make some calls. This meeting tomorrow—it's everything for my company."

  Riley nodded, setting her bag on the counter with careful movements that barely disturbed the settled dust. "I get it," she said, voice soft as water smoothing stone. "Sometimes we do what we have to."

  While Steve’s fingers drummed an anxious rhythm on the counter and his gaze bounced around the booth, Riley stood calm, centered, like the eye of the storm that raged outside.

  "I could give you a lift," she offered after a moment, words flowing easily into the dusty air. "Might find somewhere with power if we drive long enough."

  Hope surged through Steve's veins. "Really? That would be—God, that would be incredible. I just need to charge this thing, get online for a few hours to prepare. The SkyTech meeting is at eight AM, and if I miss it..." He trailed off, the consequences too dire to articulate.

  "Let me check something first," Riley said, reaching for her own phone. "Make sure the roads ahead are passable."

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  She turned slightly, tapping at her screen with practiced motions. Steve noticed her phone case—simple, black, but somehow distinctive. The screen illuminated her face from below, casting strange shadows.

  The silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the relentless sound of dust striking glass and the occasional creak of the booth's structure as it weathered the storm. Steve found himself studying this unexpected savior more carefully. Her clothes were practical but well-worn—jeans, boots, a heavy coat that had seen better days. Nothing about her screamed wealth or success, yet she carried herself with a quiet confidence that many of his Silicon Valley associates would envy.

  Riley's face fell as she looked at her phone. "That's not good," she murmured, more to herself than to Steve.

  "What's wrong?"

  She looked up, expression carefully neutral. "Highway's completely closed ahead. Police barricades ten miles east. The storm's apparently much worse in that direction."

  Steve's momentary hope curdled in his stomach. "What about west? Back the way you came?"

  "I barely made it through before they closed that section too. Visibility's zero in some stretches." She slipped her phone into her pocket. "Let me try something else."

  Riley moved toward the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. "I'll be right back. Going to check my car."

  Before Steve could protest, she slipped outside, disappearing into the swirling dust. He pressed his face to the window, trying to track her progress, but the storm swallowed her completely after just a few steps.

  Alone again, the weight of his situation pressed down harder. Every minute that passed was another minute less to prepare for the meeting that would determine PulseSync's fate. Without power, without Nexus, without the carefully arranged data and projections he needed, how could he possibly persuade SkyTech's board to sign the partnership agreement?

  Outside, a vehicle's engine coughed, then died. Started again, sputtered, went silent. Riley's voice carried faintly through the storm, a single sharp expletive that told Steve everything he needed to know.

  Minutes later, the booth door opened, admitting a swirl of dust and a frustrated Riley. She brushed particles from her coat, expression resigned but not panicked.

  "Car won't start," she stated simply. "Something about the dust in the engine, I think. It was making weird noises for the last few miles."

  "So we're both stranded," Steve said, the words heavy in his mouth.

  Riley nodded, unwinding her scarf again. "Looks that way. At least until morning when they might get the roads clear."

  Morning. Eight hours from now. When he was supposed to be at the meeting, polished, prepared, delivering the pitch of his life to SkyTech Global's executive team.

  "I can't wait until morning," he said, running a hand through his dust-coated hair. "This meeting—it's not just some regular business thing. It's literally the future of my company. Sixteen people's jobs. Everything I've built for the past two years."

  Riley leaned back against the counter, regarding him with that steady gaze that seemed to see more than just his external panic. "Tell me about it," she suggested, voice smooth as still water. "Sometimes talking helps."

  Steve almost dismissed the offer. What could this stranger possibly understand about the high-stakes world of tech startups and venture capital? About the relentless pressure to innovate, to scale, to monetize? About the constant, gnawing fear that you're just one misstep away from complete failure?

  But something in Riley's calm demeanor invited confidence. Her stillness created a space where his churning thoughts might find some temporary order.

  "PulseSync is—was supposed to be revolutionary," he began, pacing the small confines of the booth. "TaskNet is our flagship product. It's designed to replace administrative work entirely by networking business software through AI. Your workflow, networked. That's our tagline."

  Riley nodded, encouraging him without interrupting.

  "We've gotten traction with smaller businesses, but cash flow is tight. We expanded too quickly, hired too many people before we had the client base to support it." The admission tasted bitter. "SkyTech Global wants to partner with us, maybe even acquire us completely. The deal we're discussing tomorrow could solve everything—funding issues, reach, resources. I'd finally be able to scale TaskNet the way it deserves."

  "And if the deal falls through?" Riley asked, the question gentle despite its weight.

  Steve stopped pacing, the reality he'd been avoiding suddenly inescapable in the dirty confines of the booth. "We won't make next month's payroll. We'll lose our top developers. The next funding round will fail. Everything collapses."

  The words hung in the air, mingling with dust particles visible in the faint light. Riley didn't offer empty reassurances or platitudes. She simply absorbed his anxiety with that same measured calm, her presence somehow easing the sharp edges of his panic.

  "Let me try something," she said after a moment, pulling out her phone again. "I know someone who works emergency services. Maybe they can tell us when the roads might open."

  Steve watched as she dialed, pressing the phone to her ear. Her expression remained neutral as she waited, nothing betraying whether she was actually connected or merely pretending. A performance for his benefit? He couldn't tell.

  "Hey, it's Riley," she said eventually. "Yeah, I know it's late. Sorry. I'm stuck out on Highway 16 with another traveler. Any chance of getting help tonight?"

  A pause. Riley's eyes met Steve's briefly before glancing away.

  "I see. That bad, huh? No, I understand. We'll manage until morning. Thanks anyway."

  She ended the call, slipping the phone back into her pocket with a small sigh. "They can't get anyone out until morning. Storm's too dangerous for emergency vehicles right now."

  "You're sure?" Steve pressed, desperation edging his voice. "What about police? Highway patrol? Anyone?"

  Riley shook her head, the motion smooth and deliberate. "Everyone's grounded until the storm passes. We're on our own until dawn at least."

  The finality in her tone struck Steve like a physical blow. He sagged into the booth’s worn chair, head in his hands, as if gravity itself had doubled.

  He wasn’t going to make it in person. Maybe he could connect online. Come up with a reason.

  Outside, the storm continued unabated, dust swirling in patterns visible even through the grimy windows.

  "We should try to get some rest," Riley suggested, settling herself against the counter in a position that looked surprisingly comfortable. "Morning will come either way."

  Steve glanced at his watch again. 12:42 AM. More than seven hours until the SkyTech meeting. Seven hours of enforced inactivity. Seven hours without preparation, without Nexus's guidance, without the polished presentation he'd planned to deliver.

  "I can't just sit here," he muttered, more to himself than to Riley. "There has to be something I can do."

  "Sometimes waiting is all we can do," Riley observed, her voice carrying a weight beyond her years. "The dust will settle eventually. It always does."

  Steve looked at her, really looked, struck by the odd wisdom in her words. There was something about Riley Tanner that didn't quite fit the image of a random traveler stranded by chance.

  "Have we met before?" he asked suddenly. "You seem familiar somehow."

  A flicker of something—amusement? concern?—passed across Riley's face before settling back into that calm mask. "I don't think so," she replied. "I'd remember meeting the CEO of PulseSync."

  The slight emphasis on his title might have been teasing, might have been something else entirely. Steve couldn't quite read her, and for someone accustomed to analyzing people within seconds of meeting them, the uncertainty was unsettling.

  Outside, the wind howled with renewed force, dust striking the windows in angry swarms. Inside, the booth felt smaller than before, its limited space now shared by two strangers with nothing but time and dust between them.

  Riley's presence had temporarily eased the sharp edge of Steve's panic, providing a momentary valley in the mountain of stress that threatened to crush him.

  Seven hours until SkyTech. Seven hours to somehow salvage this disaster.

  The storm raged on, unaware and uncaring of human deadlines or ambitions.