The old truck rumbled down the dirt road, its headlights cutting through the early morning mist. Inside, Blake gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white with tension. Beside him, Reggie sat quietly, his usual calm demeanor replaced by visible anxiety. In the back seat, Randal gazed out the window, lost in thought.
Blake's worn leather jacket was covered in dust, evidence of the dusty road. His face was gaunt, dark circles under his eyes betraying his lack of sleep. As they approached the cabin where they had left Rose, his jaw clenched tighter.
"I can't believe we're coming back empty-handed," he muttered, breaking the tense silence.
Reggie glanced at him, his voice low and somber. "We didn't have a choice, Blake. After the interference of Duncan and what happened to Gunther... we needed time to regroup."
Randal leaned forward, his voice heavy with emotion. "At least we were able to give Gunther a proper burial. He deserved that much."
