The wind cut through the trees like a blade as Terry tightened his grip on the steering wheel. The old truck rattled down the service road, the headlights slicing through the fog. He had checked the news for anything about lana or Victor but nothing had been on there, which was an advantage to him. Clara had sent him a message that she wanted to meet with victor
In the backseat, Victor sat slouched and silent, like his mind was far off.
Terry didn't speak. Not yet. His knuckles were white, the phone booth looming ahead on the edge of the highway. He'd used this place before, off the grid, no cameras, no one around after midnight.
From the rearview mirror, Victor's reflection stared back at him. His face was pale, gaunt, his eyes too still. "She'll be angry," Victor said finally, his voice rasping like he hadn't spoken in days.
"Yeah," Terry muttered, parking by the ditch. "That's one way to put it."
