A couple runs through the park, hands locked together, their pace too quick, their faces drawn. They don’t bother to slow as they step into the crosswalk. She glances back over her shoulders as he pulls her across the street. Even from a distance, I can see their fear.

Doug cracks his window, his crystal eye trained on them as he draws in a breath. I smell it too.

A Summer. An Autumn. Running together.

Doug revs the engine. The couple looks up, their eyes widening as Doug slams the car into gear. His foot comes down hard on the accelerator and the car lurches under me. I grip the door, one hand braced on the dashboard as the car squeals toward them.

“What are you doing?” The car straddles the center lines as the couple nears the middle of the road, directly in our path.

“Teaching a lesson,” he says, upshifting as the engine screams.

The boy pulls the girl by the hand and they sprint for a side street.

The tires throw up plumes of sleet and water as we fishtail on the icy road. Doug shifts, turns, and suddenly we’re right behind them. Chasing them down.

“Stop it!” Gripping the door, I press back into my seat. “You’re going to kill them!”

“You’re catching on quick.” He jerks the wheel, turning sharply as they double back down the next street, back toward the park. It’s their only chance of outrunning us.

“Don’t do this,” I plead with him. “It’s only the two of them. There’s no harm in letting them live their own lives. Let them go!”

“And then what?” His bumper is dangerously tight on their heels. “Who takes the regions they’ve abandoned? Who keeps everything from spiraling out of control? You?” He darts a sharp look at my face, returning his gaze to the road—to his target—as the car’s tires smack into a pothole. “When hundreds of others start getting the same idea, are you going to come with me and find new Seasons to replace them? Are you going to help me turn them? Train them? Hope they all don’t defect and abandon their posts?” His laugh is scornful when I don’t answer. “I didn’t think so.”

The car skids again, chasing them through a turn as they sprint hand in hand for the brick wall, toward the entrance to the park. We’re too close. Moving too fast. There’s no way they’ll make it.

“These two can serve as a lesson to the others. Trust me,” Doug says, leaning into the accelerator. “It’s better this way.”