Scene 411 |work| -

The scene holds. No music. Just the sound of a single, deliberate footstep as they stand up.

They are alone. For the first time in 48 hours, the adrenaline has drained, leaving only a dull ache in their ribs and the taste of copper in their mouth. scene 411

A pause. The hum of a neon sign outside flickers to life. The scene holds

They dial a number from memory. It rings twice. A click. the adrenaline has drained

They snap the phone in half. The dial tone dies. Outside, headlights sweep the highway—approaching, fast.