The truck had been moving for hours.
Its tires ground relentlessly over the fractured road, kicking up dust that caught in the twisted light. On either side, the world rolled by in shades of ruin—skeletal trees blackened by ash, fields overgrown with brittle weeds, and the scorched bones of towns that hadn't stood a chance. The sun, or what passed for it, hovered unnaturally high in the sky, refusing to set. It glared down like an open wound, bleeding light that had long stopped warming anything.
Inside, the silence was heavier than usual.
Zara sat near the back of the truck bed, one leg curled beneath her, the other stretched out as she rubbed at her calf. Her boots were dust-covered, scuffed to hell. Leo lay across her lap, half-asleep, thumb stuck in his mouth. She smoothed a hand over his hair automatically, eyes flickering from him to the horizon.
Beside her, Winter had his arms folded, jaw tight, eyes watching the road ahead like it might reach up and swallow them.
