The convoy slowed without warning.
Brake lights flared ahead of them one by one until the entire line of vehicles rolled into a gradual stop along the cracked stretch of highway where rusted barricades and a bullet scarred sign marked the edge of Route territory.
Malcolm eased the Land Cruiser to a halt, engine humming low.
In the back seat, Cyborg leaned forward between them, resting his forearm along the top of Malcolm's seat before placing his hand firmly on Malcolm's shoulder.
"Well," he said, eyes scanning the empty road beyond the barricade, "this is our border. From here on, you're on your own."
Malcolm's gaze met his in the rearview mirror. A single nod.
"If you get tired out there," Cyborg added, voice casual but quieter underneath, "you can come back to the Route."
Another nod.
Then he shifted his focus to the passenger seat.
"Iyisha."
She froze.
