Her name was Mara. She slid him a cup of black coffee without asking. Rook sat, staring at her hands. They were scarred like his, burn marks tracing her wrists.
"You've been touched by it," she said quietly. "The Baptism."
Rook's head throbbed. "That silver… that stuff in the trailer—"
"Not stuff," Mara interrupted. "It's the Road. The living thing that runs beneath the asphalt. Most drivers don't know it exists. But when you're baptized… it rides with you. It changes you."
Rook pushed the coffee away. "I don't want this."
"You don't get to want," she said simply. "You either drive with it… or it consumes you."