The van waited for them at the edge of the dock, headlights off, hulking in the darkness like a beast ready to whisk them away from everything they'd just endured. Mia's boots thudded against the wooden planks as they shuffled toward it, muscles aching from the sprint through the woods and the tension that hadn't yet eased from her chest.
Matt threw open the back doors, and without a word, they began loading their bags inside. The van's interior smelled of old leather and dust, a comforting contrast to the salt air still clinging to Mia's skin. She glanced at Claire, who had moved mechanically, stuffing her bag into the corner.
Mia could tell Claire wasn't really present—her mind was still somewhere back at Paradisum, walking its halls, facing the ghosts it held.
Andrew gave Mia's hand a brief squeeze as he passed, brushing by to grab one last bag from the boat. She returned the squeeze half-heartedly, exhaustion pulling her under.
