First light bled across the horizon like a slow-opening wound, seeping red into a sky that had long forgotten what blue looked like.
The orb in the sky had turned red a few days ago and still hung low and silent, watching.
Zara stood at the front of the truck, map in one hand, flashlight in the other, the soft beam flickering over weather-worn ink and creases rubbed almost invisible from too much folding. Her brows furrowed as she compared their position to the coordinates Miles had jotted down last night.
They were close.
"Five clicks west," she muttered. "And then north."
She heard footsteps behind her but didn't turn. Naomi's presence was quiet.
"You sure about this direction?" Naomi asked, her voice flat, arms crossed as she leaned against the truck.
"As sure as anyone can be about anything anymore."
"Mm." Naomi didn't press further. Her expression said what her voice didn't—if you lead us wrong, I won't let it go.
