They reached Bridgeton as the light thinned into that uncertain gray where depth stopped behaving and every shadow felt intentional.
The radio crackled softly, the sound cutting through the tension just enough to pull her attention back.
"After the bridge," Waldo's voice came through, lower now, more cautious. "We should stop soon. I know a place not far from here. Covered. Quiet. We don't want to push into full night."
Malcolm didn't answer right away.
Iyisha watched his reflection in the windshield.
"Copy," he said finally. "You lead."
The smaller car rolled ahead of them, Waldo driving steady, Lauren scanning the edges of the road, headlights washing over the approach to the newer span.
Iyisha locked her eyes on the covered bridge looming off to the side.
It was not broken or sagging or close to collapse. The wood was darkened with age but solid, beams thick and well fitted, the kind of structure built to last and quietly proven by time.
