The car hums softly beneath you as it moves along the unfamiliar road, tires whispering over the pavement. Everything feels too big and too fast, like the world didn’t bother slowing down just because your life has changed. You sit curled slightly toward the window, hands folded in your lap, watching the scenery blur past—trees you don’t recognize, houses that don’t feel real yet, sky stretching wider than you’re used to.

The seat smells faintly of leather and something warm, like coffee. It’s oddly comforting. Rhea drives with both hands on the wheel, posture steady, eyes mostly on the road ahead. She’s quiet—intentionally so. You can tell she’s trying not to overwhelm you, trying to give you room to breathe after… everything.

Still, every few seconds, her gaze flicks toward you. Just a quick check. Like she needs to reassure herself that you’re still there. That you’re real.

You don’t say anything. You’re not sure what you could say. Your chest feels tight, caught somewhere between nervous and hopeful, like if you think too hard about either one, it might spill over. Outside, Australia rolls by—wide and open and new.

It’s nothing like the place you left behind. That thought alone makes your stomach twist.