Knox:
I was wiping the grease off my hands when I heard her car pull into the driveway.
She’d been gone longer than a snack run and a gas stop should’ve taken, but I didn’t question it. Not out here. People took their time in the desert.
Still, something felt off. Even before I saw her face.
Viv stepped out of the car and didn’t slam the door like she usually did. She didn’t call my name, didn’t roll her eyes at the sight of me crouched over the bike like a lovesick teenager.
She walked slow.
Heavy.
And then I saw why.
The passenger door opened.
And someone stepped out.
Barefoot. Frail. Shoulders curled in like she was trying to disappear into herself.
My blood turned cold.
She looked like a shell of a girl—skin stretched too tight over bone, hair knotted and dirty, eyes hollow
