Nouveauté
Offrir maintenant
Ou planifier dans votre panier
Disponible dans votre compte client Decitre ou Furet du Nord dès validation de votre commande. Le format ePub est :
  • Compatible avec une lecture sur My Vivlio (smartphone, tablette, ordinateur)
  • Compatible avec une lecture sur liseuses Vivlio
  • Pour les liseuses autres que Vivlio, vous devez utiliser le logiciel Adobe Digital Edition. Non compatible avec la lecture sur les liseuses Kindle, Remarkable et Sony
Logo Vivlio, qui est-ce ?

Notre partenaire de plateforme de lecture numérique où vous retrouverez l'ensemble de vos ebooks gratuitement

Pour en savoir plus sur nos ebooks, consultez notre aide en ligne ici
C'est si simple ! Lisez votre ebook avec l'app Vivlio sur votre tablette, mobile ou ordinateur :
Google PlayApp Store
  • FormatePub
  • ISBN8232848842
  • EAN9798232848842
  • Date de parution28/09/2025
  • Protection num.pas de protection
  • Infos supplémentairesepub
  • ÉditeurHamza elmir

Résumé

Evan used to teach.  Now he drives. And his 5.0 rating is slipping. Phoenix nights burn hot and endless, each ride another chance to keep the score alive.  But the reviews start to twist-passengers claim he said things he never remembers, hint at accusations he thought he'd outrun.  A girl's name surfaces again and again: Sophie. The app doesn't let go.  A nurse mentions thin walls.  A passenger talks about patterns that never stop.
 A kid leaves her name carved into his dashboard.  Every ping drags him further into the desert heat, until the line between rider  and accuser, memory and hallucination, fractures for good. 4.98 is a claustrophobic psychological horror where ratings slip, rides repeat, and the past refuses to stay buried.  
Evan used to teach.  Now he drives. And his 5.0 rating is slipping. Phoenix nights burn hot and endless, each ride another chance to keep the score alive.  But the reviews start to twist-passengers claim he said things he never remembers, hint at accusations he thought he'd outrun.  A girl's name surfaces again and again: Sophie. The app doesn't let go.  A nurse mentions thin walls.  A passenger talks about patterns that never stop.
 A kid leaves her name carved into his dashboard.  Every ping drags him further into the desert heat, until the line between rider  and accuser, memory and hallucination, fractures for good. 4.98 is a claustrophobic psychological horror where ratings slip, rides repeat, and the past refuses to stay buried.