The Nevada sun was merciless that afternoon, slicing through the high desert air as Ash rolled into the compound. His bike groaned as if exhausted from the miles it had devoured, dust coating the chrome and his face alike. The gate swung open, Flint on duty, who gave him a lazy salute before letting him through.
Inside, everything looked almost too normal.
The rumble of engines, the laughter from the boys, the smell of oil and cigarette smoke thick in the air.
Ash parked, turned off the ignition, and just sat there for a while, helmet still on. The roar of the engine faded but the echoes inside his head didn’t. Texas still clung to him...the empty roads, the echo of the bike that wasn’t his, the scent of bread that had almost broken him.
He finally got off, helmet under his arm, and ma
