Tommy shrugged. “Beginnings live in the same suitcase. You just have to decide which one to open.”

Kait watched him with an expression that was part mischief and part worry. “Tommy gets sentimental. Dangerous thing,” she said, and the two of them laughed.

He'd been driving for hours with his radio off and a half-crumpled map on the passenger seat. Tru wasn’t sure how he ended up taking the back roads, only that when the sky began to pale he spotted a light on: a diner that had been kept alive by slow coffee and the insistence of a few regulars. He pulled in.

“It belonged to my uncle,” Tommy said. “Took it everywhere. Left it here until he couldn't anymore. I hardly remember the first time he drove me—back when the world felt like a field you could cross without a plan.”

Tommy’s jaw worked. He stared at the road beyond the salvage yard. “We could,” he said. “We could go somewhere.”

Tommy’s smile cracked slow like a sunrise. “Coast,” he agreed.