The car engine cut through the dawn like a warm knife. John drove intently, his hands steady on the wheel, his eyes scanning the road with the urgency of someone carrying a responsibility that was not his alone. Luara, beside him, seemed too calm, her body leaning back in the seat as if the trip were just another nightly ritual. Her face was serene, a small smile curving her lips that did not reach her eyes, and the expression worked as a mask so perfect that many could mistake it for ...