The heat shimmered off the asphalt in waves, blurring the horizon where the gray road met the pale, bleached sky. She stood by the rusted guardrail, the strap of a worn leather bag digging into her shoulder. In this stretch of nothingness, time didn't move in minutes; it moved in the distance between the rare, passing engines.

She adjusted her bag, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "As far as the road stays straight," she replied, stepping toward the door. The latch clicked—a definitive sound of transition—and the dust settled behind them as they merged back into the shimmering heat.

A distant hum eventually grew into a low rumble. A sun-faded sedan slowed, its tires crunching over the gravel of the shoulder. As the window rolled down, the cool blast of air conditioning escaped like a secret.

"How far are you headed?" the driver asked, eyes shielded by dark lenses.