The drive to the coast stretched long and quiet, the kind of quiet that didn't demand anything from Willow. She watched the passing world through the window—the thinning traffic, the way high-rises melted into broad sky, then into long, empty fields. None of it felt real. Yesterday felt like the longest life she had ever lived, and today felt like borrowed time.
Victor didn't fill the silence.
He let it sit, patient and unthreatening, as though silence itself was something he knew how to handle.
When they reached the beach, the wind greeted them first—cool, sharp, carrying salt and the faint metallic scent of the early tide. The sky stretched open, wide and pale, as if offering her a place big enough to breathe.
