The truck slowed as he neared the school, the building rising ahead, kids spilling from doors in clusters. He had no idea what she looked like. Didn't know hair color, height, posture, the way she carried herself.
His mind started spinning quietly, running through everything he might do. Stay calm. Don't draw attention. Walk slowly. Ask her name. Don't get in anyone's way. Look for… something. But what? He had nothing to go on.
Hands tight on the wheel, he adjusted the mirrors again. His eyes flicked from one group of students to another, scanning for someone, anyone, who might be her. His stomach tightened. The truck idled as he paused at the curb, letting the chaos of the students wash past.
He overthought every move: Open the door, get out, walk up slowly. Don't make a scene. Don't assume. Don't— He cut the thoughts off, leaning back against the seat, silent, listening to the faint hum of the engine, feeling the weight of the unknown pressing down.
They'd see me. Someone would think I'm… I don't know… a threat. Stranger. Some guy showing up out of nowhere.
His hands tightened on the wheel again. He shifted slightly, trying to calm the tension coiling in his chest. He scanned the crowd, searching for anything — hair, backpack, movement — that might tell him which girl was hers. But he had nothing.
The truck idled at the curb, kids spilling out of the school doors in small, noisy clusters. Teenagers walked past, backpacks slung low, heads bent in conversation, laughter bouncing off the brick walls. Caleb watched them, scanning every face, every movement, looking for something familiar.
But the more he stared, the heavier it felt. This looks wrong. I'm just sitting here, watching them. Someone could call this… creepy. A stranger at the curb, staring. That's not right.
He shifted in his seat, hands tightening on the wheel. I can't just sit here like this. I need to think it through. Be careful. Not stand out. Not draw attention.
Caleb stepped out of the truck, letting the door close softly behind him. The September air was sharp, carrying the hum of students and distant sneakers on pavement. He let his gaze travel over the school building, taking in the rows of windows and the main entrance.
He didn't linger. He walked with quiet, deliberate steps straight toward the main office entrance, knowing this was where he needed to go first. Teenagers jostled past him, some glancing curiously, others absorbed in their own world. The feeling of being watched pressed at him, but he ignored it, keeping his movements controlled, deliberate.
The main office doors came into view — glass panels, the school logo a simple bear in muted colors. Caleb paused briefly, hand hovering near the door, steadying himself. Then, he pushed it open and stepped inside.
The lobby smelled faintly of cleaning supplies, paper, and the soft hum of fluorescent lights. The office lady glanced up from her desk, pen in hand, her expression shifting from idle attention to careful curiosity as she registered the tall, quiet man in the doorway. Caleb's eyes swept the room once, taking in the layout, the desk, the little piles of papers, before he made his way toward her, careful to move slowly, deliberately, measured.
Caleb shifted slightly, clearing his throat. "Uh… I'm here to… pick up, uh…" His voice trailed. He glanced down briefly, then back up. "June Harrison."
Caleb's gaze stayed low for a moment, then flicked toward her. "I… I'm her uncle," he said quietly, clipped. "I just… got here. I'm supposed to pick her up."
The office lady looked up sharply, pen pausing in her hand. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she leaned back. "You're not listed in our system as a guardian," she said cautiously. "School's almost out. I need to know who you are and why you're taking her."
Caleb's hands fidgeted slightly at his sides. "I… I can… I can show my ID. Or, uh… talk to the principal, whoever. I just… need to make sure I'm doing this right."
The office lady raised an eyebrow, still skeptical, but nodded slowly. "Alright. Let me see your ID, and then I'll make a call to verify. You'll need to wait here while I do that."
Caleb nodded once, voice barely audible. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his ID, and held it out carefully. The motion was deliberate, controlled, even as a tight knot of nerves pressed at his chest.
A few minutes later, the office door opened, and Principal Harris stepped in. Mid-forties, suit slightly rumpled from the day, tie loosened. He moved with steady purpose, eyes scanning Caleb before settling on him.
"You must be Mr. Harrison," he said, voice calm, even.
Caleb nodded once, quiet, hands brushing the edge of the counter. "Yes. I'm here for June."
Principal Harris held out his hand. "Let me see some ID."
Caleb reached into his pocket, pulled out his ID, and handed it over carefully. The principal examined it, eyes lingering on Caleb's face for a long moment, taking in the tall, stiff frame, the clipped, measured way he spoke.
"All right," Harris said finally. He straightened slightly and gestured toward the office door. "Come with me. We'll go into my office so we can verify everything privately."
Caleb nodded once, quiet, and followed, each step deliberate as they left the lobby and moved down the hall. The hum of the nearly-empty school filled the brief space between them.
Principal Harris closed the office door behind them, gesturing for Caleb to take a seat across from his desk. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the wood surface.
"I know what happened with June's parents," Harris said, voice low, careful. "I'm… truly sorry for your loss. It's… hard on everyone, the school, the community, her friends. I figured something like this might happen — that someone in the family would have to step in. I just want to make sure she's safe while she adjusts."
Caleb kept his gaze down on his hands, fingers brushing over each other. He nodded once, quietly. "I… I understand," he said, voice measured, clipped. Not much else came, but the weight in the room was thick, the silence heavy with unspoken acknowledgment.
Harris gave a small, sympathetic nod. "We'll verify your authorization, and then you can take her. I just need to make sure everything's in order. You understand why, right?"
Caleb nodded again, his voice barely above a whisper. "Yes."
Harris leaned back slightly and turned toward his computer. Fingers flying over the keys, he pulled up the school's database and cross-checked the authorization forms. The screen's glow reflected faintly off his glasses.
"So," he said after a moment, eyes briefly meeting Caleb's, "what do you do for work? How do you… manage things usually?" His tone was casual, filling the silence while the system verified Caleb's information.
Caleb's gaze stayed on his hands, brushing them together. "I… just got back," he said, voice low, clipped. "Nothing yet."
Harris nodded, pausing for a beat. "Just got back… from where?"
Caleb's jaw tightened slightly. He kept his eyes low, voice measured, clipped. "Deployment. Overseas."
Harris nodded slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard. "Deployment… overseas. Got it. What branch were you in?"
Caleb's gaze stayed low, voice low and clipped. "Navy. SEALs."
Harris blinked once, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "SEALs… really? Wow. I… I didn't expect that." He paused, then leaned back slightly, tapping the desk with a finger. "How was it… I mean, what did you do over there?"
Caleb's chest tightened, and for a moment his mind wasn't in the office. The world shifted.
He was inside a narrow, dimly lit building. Concrete walls smelled of smoke and sweat. He moved carefully, rifle up, clearing rooms. Footsteps pounded behind him — fast, heavy.
Without warning, a man lunged at him. Caleb barely twisted, rifle swinging up instinctively, but the other man tackled him hard, slamming him against the concrete floor. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs, rifle skittering slightly to the side. Caleb's arms tensed, fists gripping, every muscle screaming to react.
The man pressed down, straddling Caleb's chest, fists flying. Caleb raised his arms just enough to block the first series of blows, the impact rattling his forearms, knuckles scraping against hardened knuckles. His head rocked slightly with each strike, but he stayed aware, calculating.
Caleb's eyes flicked, searching for leverage. He seized one of the attacker's arms, twisting sharply, forcing it to the ground. Using the momentum, he shifted his hips and rolled, working to gain the top position. Muscle memory took over; every motion precise, controlled under adrenaline.
Finally on top, Caleb planted his knees, pinning the man's torso. His right arm coiled, elbow drawn back, and then he drove it down violently into the man's head.
His fingers found the knife at his belt. The man's eyes widened in terror. A scream ripped from his throat, panic igniting every muscle. Caleb pressed the blade forward.
He stabbed with precision, aiming at the stomach, each thrust controlled, designed to incapacitate. The attacker flailed, trying to twist, grab Caleb's arm, scramble free. Caleb shifted his weight, keeping the knife between them, forcing him to the ground, every motion a battle of leverage.
The man gurgled and twisted, slamming fists against Caleb, but Caleb's grip held firm. He rotated the knife, jabbing at angles that would make him relent, his strikes calculated but chaotic in appearance. The struggle was a blur of sweat, shouts, and sharp steel, each movement sending tremors of panic through the attacker.
Caleb stayed steady, muscles coiled, eyes locked. The man's moans and frantic movements filled the room, his attempts to push, kick, and grab only tightening Caleb's control.
Caleb finally shifted, pressing the blade against the man's chest one last time. The fight drained from him; the attacker slumped, gasping, defeated but alive. Caleb stood slowly, knife still in hand, chest heaving, adrenaline thrumming through every nerve.
A gurgling moan escaped. "I… can't… move… Allah… help me…" he gasped, panic and desperation shaking every word.
Caleb stood over him, chest heaving. Without warning, he began kicking wildly at the man's head, each motion reckless, chaotic. The man sat on the ground, panicked, gurgling and twisting, moaning in exaggerated pain, arms flailing to protect himself.
Caleb clamped his hands over his ears, yelling, "Stop talking!" His kicks were sloppy, frantic, and every strike unpredictable.
Caleb finally stopped, chest heaving, and slumped down on the floor across from the man. The hallway felt tight, oppressive, every sound echoing off the walls. The man's frantic movements slowed, and the gurgling noises faded into silence.
He looked down at his hands, smeared and bloodied, panic still sharp in his eyes. He tried to wipe them on his clothes, but the fabric barely absorbed anything, leaving streaks and stains behind. His breathing was ragged, his body trembling as he struggled to process the chaos that had just passed.
Back in the office, Caleb's body and mind still hummed with the residual tension of the flashback. His hands, resting on his knees, twitched slightly, as if still holding the knife. He cleared his throat softly, voice low, clipped.
"Uh… it… it was… intense," he said finally, voice rougher than usual, measured but carrying the faint weight of disbelief at himself. He looked up briefly, meeting Harris's eyes for a second, then dropped his gaze again. "Lot of… close calls. You… you learn to keep moving, keep… control. That's it."
He exhaled slowly, letting the memory settle behind the tautness in his chest, his hands still lingering tensely on his knees. The room was quiet, but the weight of what he'd just relived pressed between them.
Harris leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly, taking in Caleb's posture, the tautness in his shoulders. He didn't speak immediately, letting the silence stretch, letting Caleb settle—or not.
"Yeah," Harris said finally, voice soft, cautious. "I… get it. I can't imagine what that's like." He paused, tapping a pen lightly against the desk. "You've seen a lot. Done a lot. But, uh… right now, you're here for her. June."
Harris leaned back slightly, fingers resting on the edge of the desk. "She's finishing up cheer practice," he said, tone casual but careful. "Should be out any minute."
Caleb's eyes stayed low, voice clipped. "Right. Cheer practice." He didn't ask questions, didn't look around. Just let the words settle in, the name and activity forming a small anchor in the chaos of his thoughts.
Caleb's jaw tightened slightly, voice low and hesitant. "She… she doesn't know me. Doesn't know what I look like. How… how do I even—" His words faltered, trailing off.
Harris leaned forward, hands resting on the desk. "You'll just have to go to the gym," he said plainly. "I'll talk to the coach."
Harris pushed back from the desk, rising smoothly. "Come on," he said, motioning toward the door.
Caleb followed. The office door clicked shut behind them. Their footsteps echoed lightly in the hallway, Harris leading the way with calm, measured steps, Caleb's own pace slower, cautious, scanning the walls and lockers as they passed.
As they walked down the hallway, Harris glanced at Caleb, a faint, apologetic look crossing his face.
"Hey… I'm sorry about asking earlier," he said, voice low, careful. "I didn't mean to pry into any old memories or… stir anything up. I'm just… a bit of a military nerd, I guess. Can't help myself sometimes."
Caleb kept his gaze forward, shoulders tight, silent. The words hung in the air, an awkward bridge between their steps and the quiet hum of the school around them. Harris gave a small, understanding nod and fell into step beside him, letting the hall carry them toward the gym.
June's sneakers squeaked against the polished gym floor as she moved through the final set of routines. The clang of the bleachers folding and the thump of the basketball bouncing in the background filled the space around her, but she mostly tuned it out. Her arms shook a little from the repetitions, but her form stayed sharp—kicks high, jumps controlled, hands snapping into the proper positions at each count.
"Good job, June!" her captain called, and she felt a flicker of pride. She caught her breath, glanced at her teammates, and offered a small smile. They were chatting quietly in the corner, folding mats and tossing water bottles around.
"Nice snap on that last one," Kayla said, grabbing her water bottle. Her curly hair was tied high in a ponytail, sweat dampening the strands at her forehead. She grinned. "You've been killing it today."
June forced a small smile. "Thanks," she muttered, lowering her arms. She wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.
The squad was winding down, folding mats and talking quietly about homework and weekend plans.
Kayla bounced on her heels, tucking her hands into her warm-up jacket. "You okay? You're acting weird," she teased lightly. "Don't tell me you're already stressing over finals."
June shook her head quickly. "No… just tired," she said.
A sudden murmur drew June's attention. The principal appeared at the door first, brisk and businesslike, with a tall man trailing behind him. He was well over most of the students, shoulders broad, posture tense. His curly brown hair fell slightly over his forehead, and his face, calm but distant, carried a quiet loneliness, like he didn't belong anywhere.
June instinctively straightened, her eyes flicking from him to the principal. The principal waved briefly at the coach, speaking in low tones, gesturing toward the man. The coach nodded, and the two of them lingered near the edge of the gym, clearly discussing something June couldn't hear.
Kayla leaned toward June, whispering, eyes wide. "Who's that? Some new student? Or is someone in trouble?"
Mia's gaze stayed fixed on the man for a long second, then she shook her head, frowning slightly. "I don't know… he looks like trouble or something. Why would the principal be here with him?"
Sophie tilted her head, curiosity written all over her face. "He's… huge. And kind of… sad? I don't know, it's weird. Do you think he's new? Maybe some exchange kid?"
Kayla's eyes lingered a moment longer, and she nudged June lightly with her elbow, whispering again. "Okay, but… wow. Look at him. He's… really good-looking, don't you think?"
Mia glanced at him, then shook her head with a laugh. "Yeah… big, brooding type. Definitely not someone you see every day around here."
Sophie smirked, tilting her head as she studied him. "He's… tall, dark-haired… kind of like a model or something. I mean, wow."
June shifted slightly, glancing at him with a quiet nod. "Yeah… I guess," she murmured.
The coach clapped his hands sharply. "June! Come over here for a sec!"
June froze for a moment, blinking. Me? She hadn't expected to be called out. Slowly, she made her way across the gym, sweat glinting on her brow, sneakers squeaking against the polished floor.
Kayla leaned toward Mia and Sophie, whispering urgently, eyes wide. "Wait… what did she do? Is she in trouble?"
Mia frowned, tilting her head. "I don't know… maybe she messed up a move?"
Sophie shrugged, whispering, "Coach doesn't usually call her over like that. Something's up."
June kept her steps steady, glancing at her friends with a small, uncertain shrug, her mind racing with possibilities as she approached the coach.
June walked across the gym floor as she approached the coach, feeling a little out of breath and more than a little uncertain. The coach didn't say anything at first—just rested a hand briefly on her shoulder, as if unsure how to start.
After a pause, the principal stepped forward, voice calm and measured. "June," he said, gesturing slightly, "this is Caleb. He's here to pick you up."
June froze, looking from the principal to the tall man standing behind him. Her friends' whispers faded into the background, and all she could do was stare, processing the unfamiliar presence before her.
June's eyes flicked briefly back to her friends, catching their curious, expectant gazes. She gave a small, almost automatic nod.
"Okay," she said quietly, letting her words carry no more than that.
Harris cleared his throat, keeping his tone even. "Grab your stuff," he said, gesturing toward her bag. "He'll wait for you outside the school."
Caleb stood just outside the main doors, back pressed lightly against the wall. His hands stayed buried in his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched, head tilted slightly down. He didn't move much, just waited, silent, the occasional shuffle of passing students brushing past him barely registering.
The doors swung open, and June stepped out, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair slightly mussed from practice. Her eyes scanned the crowd, then landed on him.
For a long, quiet second, they just looked at each other. Caleb's tall frame and tense posture made him hard to miss, but there was something reserved in the way he stood, almost… fragile, despite his size.
Finally, his voice cut through the quiet, low and clipped. "Let's go… to the car."
June nodded once, shrugging her bag a little higher on her shoulder, and started walking toward him.
They walked across the asphalt together, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows behind them. The air smelled faintly of exhaust and fresh-cut grass from the field nearby.
June's pace slowed, and she glanced at him, frowning slightly. "Wait… why are you driving my dad's truck?" she asked, voice cautious, curious. Her eyes flicked toward the black truck, taking in the sleek paint and familiar shape.
Caleb's gaze stayed forward, hands in his pockets. His voice was quiet, clipped, almost detached. "It was… left here. Keys were on the counter. Thought I'd use it to get you home." He didn't offer more, his tone flat, leaving the explanation minimal.
June's steps slowed, her hand brushing the strap of her backpack nervously. She glanced up at him, eyes wary. "Okay… uh… who are you?" she asked, voice careful. "Are you… CPS? Or, like… someone the principal sent?"
Caleb finally glanced at her, voice low, clipped, carrying the quiet weight he always had. "I'm… your uncle," he said. "Jack… he's my brother."
June froze for a moment, eyes widening, her caution battling surprise. She didn't move, didn't speak, just stared, trying to process what he'd just said.
Caleb kept his gaze forward, not pressing, letting the words hang in the air. The street was quiet except for distant traffic and the faint echo of the school behind them.
"Wait…" she said slowly, voice tight. "Your… this is Caleb, isn't it? My dad… he… he used to talk about you." Her eyes narrowed, sharp and cautious. "He said… you did… bad things. Really bad things. You… you were in gangs, hurt people… sold stuff… ran away from everyone. He was always worried about you."
Caleb's jaw tightened. He looked down for a long moment, voice low, clipped. "Yeah… I did. A lot of things I… shouldn't have."
June's hands curled into fists at her sides, and she took a small step back. "And now… now you're supposed to… take care of me?" Her voice was hard, skeptical, even angry. She kept her eyes locked on him, measuring, trying to see if the man standing there was the same one her dad had worried about.
Caleb's shoulders shifted slightly, a subtle weight in his stance. "Temporary," he said quietly. "Until… until things settle."
The two looked at each other for a long second again.
Caleb's voice was low, calm, and measured, carrying that quiet weight he always seemed to have. "We'll talk about it in the car," he said. "Just… get in."
June hesitated for a moment, then swung her backpack over her shoulder and slipped into the passenger seat, closing the door softly behind her. She kept her eyes on Caleb, wary but curious, hands fidgeting in her lap.
Caleb slid into the driver's seat, the leather creaking slightly under his weight. He started the truck, the engine rumbling to life, and reached for his phone, opening the Maps app.
"Alright," he said quietly, voice clipped but steady. "I don't know where you live. Can you… put in your address?" His eyes flicked briefly to her, then back to the screen, keeping his posture rigid and unreadable.
June slid into the passenger seat, backpack still on her shoulders. She hesitated for a moment, fingers hovering over the phone screen in Caleb's hand, then tapped the keyboard carefully, inputting her address.
"There," she said softly, almost to herself. "That should get us there."
Caleb's gaze stayed low, watching her fingers move, noticing the precision and care she took, her cautiousness mirrored in the way she avoided looking at him directly. The truck idled quietly, the hum of the engine filling the space between them as he studied the screen.
The hum of the engine filled the space between them for a long moment. The streets blurred past the windshield, early evening light painting everything in dull gold.
Caleb cleared his throat, fingers tightening briefly on the wheel. "So… school," he said, voice low, clipped. "You… like it?"
June's eyes flicked to him for a second before she looked back at the road. "It's fine," she said, shrugging lightly. "I mean… it's school. Classes, homework, band stuff. You know how it is."
Caleb nodded slowly, not looking at her. "Band?" he prompted, just above a whisper. "You… play?"
"Yeah," she said, a small lift in her tone. "Trumpet." She paused, noticing his slight acknowledgment. "You… play anything?"
"No," he said flatly. "Never… stuck with it."
The air thickened for a beat. Caleb's eyes stayed on the road, but his voice softened slightly. "Do… you hang out with friends much? Outside school?"
June hesitated, fiddling with the strap of her backpack. "Some," she said carefully. "Mostly just… whatever's around after practice or homework. You know. Nothing crazy."
"Mm," he murmured, tone clipped but not uninterested. "Do you… like where you live? The neighborhood?"
She looked out the window, jaw tight, thinking. "It's fine… I guess. I mean… it's home."
Caleb's hand brushed the edge of the steering wheel, a subtle pause before he added, "Alright." Not a question, just a low acknowledgment. Then, after a beat, he asked, "Band… practice often?"
"Yeah," she said. "Pretty much every day after school." Her glance flicked toward him, curious but guarded. "You… ask all your nieces these questions?"
"Mm," he said, a tight nod, eyes forward. "Just… trying to know what's… normal. For you."
Caleb's eyes stayed forward on the road, voice low, clipped, but carrying a seriousness that made her glance at him.
"Do… I have another niece I need to look after?" he asked, each word deliberate.
June blinked, momentarily taken aback. "What… what do you mean?" she said cautiously, her fingers tightening slightly on her backpack strap.
He shook his head, jaw tight. "Just… making sure. You're… the only one?"
She hesitated, chewing the inside of her cheek. "Yeah," she said finally, her tone clipped, a little defensive. "I… I'm the only one. Why would you even ask that?"
Caleb's hands tightened slightly on the wheel. "Better to know than… be surprised later," he murmured, voice low, almost to himself.
June's brow furrowed, curiosity edging into disbelief. "Wait… you… you really didn't even know if you had one niece or two?" she asked, voice sharp, a mix of incredulity and guarded suspicion.
Caleb kept his eyes on the road, jaw tight. "No. I… didn't," he said, clipped, matter-of-fact. His voice had no shame, just the quiet weight of truth.
June's hands fidgeted with her seatbelt. "Wow… that's… kind of crazy," she muttered, glancing briefly out the window before back at him. "I mean… my dad… he worried about you so much… I didn't think you'd just… not know."
He exhaled slowly, eyes flicking to her from the corner of his vision for a brief second. "Things… happened," he said quietly. "I wasn't… there. I made… choices."
June's gaze softened just a fraction, but she stayed guarded. "Yeah… I know," she said carefully.
Caleb's fingers tightened slightly on the wheel. "I'm… here now. That's what matters." His voice was low, steady, carrying the quiet certainty he didn't show often.
June glanced toward him, curiosity flickering through her guarded expression. "So… what have you been doing all this time?" she asked cautiously.
Caleb's hands tightened on the wheel. His voice was low, clipped, but he didn't look away from the road. "Military. SEALs. Deployments overseas. Operations. Training. Long hours… months… sometimes years at a time. Missions… combat, security, recon. I moved a lot. Saw a lot. Did things… that stay there, in my head."
June frowned, leaning back in her seat. "That sounds… intense."
He exhaled sharply, jaw tight. "It was. You see things—people die, people get hurt. Decisions you make… they stick. I didn't… I didn't always do it right. Did what I had to." His eyes flicked briefly to her, then back to the road. "Discipline… survival… keeping people alive. That's all I knew. That's all there was."
June's brow furrowed, voice quiet but curious. "How… how many missions did you do?"
Caleb's grip on the wheel tightened slightly. He hesitated, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. "Too many to count," he said finally, voice low, clipped. "Some short, some long… a lot. Each one… different. You remember them all, but it doesn't matter. They change you… whether you want them to or not."
June's voice dropped, almost a whisper, but firm: "Did… did you… kill anyone?"
Caleb's grip tightened on the wheel, jaw rigid. His voice was low, clipped. "Yeah… before the military, too. Back when I ran things my own way." His eyes stayed on the road, but his mind flickered, unbidden, through a gallery of faces—every person he'd killed, every life he'd taken in those chaotic years. Thousands of eyes, some pleading, some furious, some empty, all watching him still, haunting the quiet behind his steady voice.
He took a slow breath, the engine's hum filling the space between words. "It… it wasn't like I enjoyed it," he said, voice low, clipped. "Back then… before the Navy, I ran things my own way. And people got hurt. People died. I didn't want it… not really. But…" His hand shifted slightly, tapping the wheel. "…you make choices. You see something coming at you, you react. You protect yourself, your people. Sometimes there's no other option. No time to think about whether it's right or wrong."
He let his eyes flick to the darkened road ahead, then back to the rearview mirror, as if checking for shadows of the past. "Every time… I remember. Every face. The people I couldn't save, the people I hurt. Thousands of eyes. Some begging, some screaming, some… gone. And you carry that. Always. You tell yourself it had to be done. That you had no choice. You survive. You keep moving. That's… that's all it ever is."
His hands tightened again on the wheel. The words hung heavy in the car, swallowed only by the low thrum of tires over asphalt and the soft shuffle of June beside him.