The steering wheel is cold beneath my white-knuckled grip, the fine leather a stark contrast to the burning ache in my shoulders and the persistent throb behind my eyes.
The long drive has been relentless, but compared to the storm brewing in my mind, the aches in my shoulders is a welcome distraction.
Every mile that vanishes in the rearview mirror feels like a deliberate act of defiance, leaving behind the suffocating chaos of Lior’s fractured reality. But with each mile, another truth asserts itself:
I’m driving myself back to the place that nearly destroyed me, the pack that tore me apart. My eyes are heavy, my limbs scream for rest, but I keep pushing, the engine’s hum a monotonous mantra.
The windows are down, the air heavy with the sweet, humid scent of dusk and pine, a stark
