The road rolled on in long quiet stretches, fields passing slow and familiar, the kind of view that reached into Iyisha without asking and pulled something old to the surface.
Early spring earth, soft greens just beginning to return, fences half sunk in mud, all of it made her feel unexpectedly nostalgic. She leaned her head back for a moment, breathing out, letting the steady hum of the engine ground her.
The walkie crackled again, abrupt but not sharp.
"Hey," Waldo's voice came through, casual and a little tired. "Just checking we're still good on the route. Back roads east, cut through Paris, then Indiana farmland, Rockville edge, Bridgeton."
Malcolm reached for the radio without shifting his gaze. "Yeah. Same plan."
"Alright," Waldo said. "We'll stay on you."
The channel went quiet.
Malcolm muted the walkie.
The silence that followed felt louder than the radio ever had.
