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Vance’s face does a thing I’ve never seen.Like his soul just tried to leave through his teeth.

I smile too quickly.“Oh, we’re?—”

The man snaps a photo with his phone.

“—Good sports,” I finish.“We’re good sports.”

His wife looks at the photo, seems remorseful.“It’s really bad.”

I shrug.“Tell you what—delete that and you take it.With our phone.”

She agrees.I hand her the phone.Lean into Vance like we’re a couple on vacation and not an abduction gone sideways.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Too many clicks.

“Perfect!”she beams.“You’ll love it.”

The woman thanks us.We walk away.

“He didn’t delete it,” Vance says.“That’ll be posted to Facebook with the caption‘Found this sweet couple on the coast today!’They’ll send it to everyone they know.”

“No one will see it.”

He scoffs.“You think facial recognition’s taking a nap?”

He doesn’t say anything else.Just walks faster.

The spell’s broken.Not all the way.But enough.

Later, back inside, he finds the photo online in under four minutes.

And even though he doesn’t save it—I already know I’ll remember how he looked in it.

Like someone who forgot to lie.

Like someone who didn’t mean to get caught being happy.

37

Vance

She doesn’t ask why we’re leaving.Doesn’t ask what’s next.There’s comfort in that.

I pack in silence.The kind that folds.That zips.That erases.Everything goes back in the duffel as though it never happened.Which is the point.

She folds her shirt like it matters.Like it won’t end up forgotten in a motel drawer six towns from here.Her movements are precise—the way you handle something fragile you don’t want, but can’t bring yourself to ruin.

We don’t talk.Not really.A few words here and there about gas, distance, snacks we won’t eat.She rides with her feet on the dash, head turned toward the window like she’s watched her yearly vacation come and go and she’s sad about it.

The storm is gone but the sky’s still bruised.Purple leaking into black.Rain tries to catch up but never quite does.The kind of drive that feels like running, even if you’re sitting still.

“You take the scenic route on purpose?”she asks somewhere past midnight.