-Vaughn Blackmore:
The bus ride feels longer than it probably is.
Not because of the distance, but because of who I'm sitting next to.
Ryland doesn't talk. Not to me. Not to anyone. He just sits there like he owns the space, as the entire bus adjusted itself around him the moment he stepped in. His arm rests close enough to mine that I'm aware of it every second, his presence heavy without him doing anything at all.
I keep my eyes on the window most of the time.
Trees blur past. The road stretches. The farther we get from the camp, the quieter everything outside becomes, like the world is slowly thinning out into nothing but forest.
Eventually, the bus slows.
Gravel crunches under the tires as we pull into a wide clearing surrounded by tall trees that stretch higher than anything back at the camp. The air looks colder here. Cleaner. Untouched.
The doors open.
People start moving.
I don't wait.
