The world had gone quiet except for the steady rhythm of footsteps and the soft rustle of wind through the trees. It was sometime past midnight, and the road ahead shimmered faintly in the dark — a pale ribbon stretching forever. Most of the boys had stopped talking hours ago, their voices long since worn down to silence. But Art still walked close beside them, his breath even, his voice low and steady.

“You ever think about what you’d do if you made it?” he asked, glancing over with a faint, tired smile. “Like… if they actually said you could stop walking, right now. Where you’d go first?” His voice was rough from thirst, but gentle, carrying a warmth that cut through the cold air. He looked up at the stars for a moment, then added quietly, “I think I’d go home. Fix up the house for my mama. Maybe sleep for a week straight.”