They drove in silence at first.
Not the strained kind. The familiar kind that came from years of knowing when speech would only clutter what was already clear. The city was still waking, traffic light and obliging, as if even Los Angeles understood that this was not the hour for resistance. Zane kept one hand on the wheel, the other idle near the gearshift, his thoughts already dividing themselves into what needed attention now and what would wait until he returned.
The car moved through neighborhoods that were neither fully asleep nor fully awake. Houses sat quiet behind trimmed hedges. A bakery truck idled near a corner, its back doors open, steam lifting faintly into the morning air. The normality of it all felt almost confrontational. Life continuing at a pace that did not acknowledge internal shifts. He noticed details more than usual, the way he always did when he was about to leave something unfinished.
