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𝗡𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗠𝗕𝗘𝗥 𝟭𝟬, 𝟮𝟬𝟬𝟱 𝖭𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺'𝗌 𝖯𝖮𝖵
𝐖𝐄'𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 the Impala has stopped being a car and started being a bloodstream—tires eating asphalt, engine humming steady, mile markers sliding past like they're part of a fever dream. The coordinates John and Isaac left behind are the only thing keeping our direction from dissolving into panic.
Colorado. Middle of nowhere.
Sam fought for Stanford. He dug his heels in with that stubborn, desperate kind of hope because the thing that took Jess isn't just some random monster in the night—this is the same evil that burned a hole through both our families. The same presence that stole his mom and mine in one awful, impossible night. Sam was convinced there had to be something—some smear of a trail, some flaw in the pattern, something it left behind in Stanford without meaning to.
Part of me understands him too well. Closure feels like oxygen. I keep telling myself that if I can label it—if I can hold the truth steady in my hands—then maybe I'll stop seeing fire every time I close my eyes. Jess deserved more and Sam deserves more than a question mark that follows him like a shadow. I deserve... something. Anything. A reason that doesn't taste like helplessness.
