They drove deeper into the mountains the next morning.
The road narrowed, winding through thick forests of pine and cedar. The air grew cooler, sharper. Maya rolled down her window, let the scent of earth and moss and something wild fill the truck. It was different from the open plains—closer, more intimate. Like the trees were leaning in to listen. She watched the shadows shift across the road, the patches of sunlight breaking through the canopy. She could hear the crunch of gravel under the tires, the distant call of a bird she didn't recognize. Everything felt alive in a way it hadn't in weeks. She could feel the cool air on her face, the way it carried the scent of damp earth and pine needles. She could see the ferns growing thick along the roadside, the moss clinging to the rocks.
K
