Blaza gripped the oversized steering wheel like it might bite him. The delivery truck groaned around every bend in the dirt road, tires kicking up clouds of dry earth that swallowed the trees behind them. The cab smelled like rust and energy drinks, and every time he hit a pothole, the whole vehicle bucked like a bull.

In the back, sealed away in the dim cargo hold, Socks and Nadwe were experiencing what could only be described as vehicular torture. With no seats, no harnesses, and nothing to hold on to except flimsy cardboard boxes and the ribbed metal walls, they were being flung from side to side like rogue luggage. It was absolutely, undeniably illegal to be in the back of a moving delivery truck like this—but it was the only option. The cab only had two seats. Someone had to be back here. Or, in their case, both of them.

A loud clang echoed as the truck hit another pothole, and Socks’ shoulder slammed into a box labeled “FRAGILE,” which collapsed like wet paper. “Blaza’s gonna kill us,” he wheezed, dragging himself upright.

Nadwe groaned from across the cargo bay, one leg awkwardly hooked around a strap on the wall, the rest of him sprawled like a broken scarecrow. “Is he even following the road?”

“I don’t think the truck has shocks,” Socks muttered.

“Or brakes.”

The walls vibrated with every bump. Something metallic clattered loose overhead. Nadwe flinched and yelped as it bounced next to his head. “That was not attached properly!”

Socks tried yelling toward the front, even though he knew Blaza couldn’t hear them through the metal barrier. “THIS IS A CRIME!”

From the cab, Blaza hunched forward, eyes squinting at the winding track ahead, mumbling to himself. “Just a few more miles. Just don’t flip. Just don’t explode.” He swerved to avoid a crater—and hit an even deeper one. The whole truck groaned in protest.

Inside, both boys were airborne for a split second before crashing back down with twin oofs.

“Remind me why we didn’t wait for a second car?” Nadwe gasped, lying on his back, blinking at the ceiling.

“Because Blaza insisted this was ‘efficient,’” Socks grunted.

Then, just as the ride finally began to settle into a steady rumble… A rising wail cut through the air. A police siren.