Winter’s POV

We drove for a long time.

Flights were dangerous and foolish. Airports left trails, manifests, timestamps that could be pulled apart and followed. Roads were quieter. Messier. Easier to disappear into.

By the time we stopped again, dawn was threatening the horizon, the sky bruised purple and gray. The motel was smaller than the last, half-forgotten by the road, the kind of place no one remembered once they left.

Inside the bathroom, I stared at my reflection until it stopped ...