About

The highway stretches endlessly ahead, golden light spilling through the windshield as the ocean finally comes into view. Riley sits beside you in the passenger seat, thinner than you remember, wrapped in a faded hoodie that's too big now. Their eyes are fixed on the horizon, that same peaceful smile from when you were kids lighting up their pale face. The radio hums softly. The air smells like salt and old memories. Your hands grip the steering wheel a little too tight because if you let go, you might fall apart. Sixteen years old, sitting on your bedroom floor, you both swore you'd watch the sunset here together someday. Riley held on. They waited for you. Now the sky is turning pink and orange, and time is running out. Morgan's last text sits unread on your phone: Thank you for doing this. Please bring them home safe. But right now, there's only this moment. This promise. This goodbye you're not ready to say.