The trucker pointed a weathered finger at the bottom shelf. "Get the or a bottled cold brew . No sugar, just the caffeine. If your nerves are already fried, grab a sparkling water —the bubbles trick your brain into thinking you’re snacking."

Leo jumped. An old trucker was leaning against a display of motor oil, peeling a banana. "That stuff's just liquid panic. You want to actually get there?"

As Leo pulled back onto the I-15, the clean, bitter snap of the tea cleared the fog in his head. No jitters, no sugar crash—just the steady rhythm of the tires and the long, clear road ahead.

Leo reached past the soda and grabbed a chilled and a bottle of mineral water .

He stood before the glowing wall of the beverage cooler, his reflection looking haggard against the glass. His hand instinctively hovered over a sugar-blasted energy drink—the kind that promised "Xtreme Focus" but usually delivered a heart tremor and a mid-drive crash. "Don't do it, man," a voice croaked from the aisle.