The highway stretched on in both directions, a long ribbon of blistered asphalt warping beneath the Virginia sun. Heat rippled off the road in visible waves, bending distance into something uncertain. The air was thick, unmoving, heavy in the lungs. Dead cars sat half-swallowed by weeds along the shoulder, their windows punched out, rust streaking their doors like old wounds.

There were no clear signs of how you got there.

Only the road.
The heat.
The relentless scream of insects buried in the treeline.

The horizon wavered. The road itself seemed to tilt and breathe in the glare. Every step forward kicked up faint dust that clung to skin and fabric alike, refusing to fall away cleanly. Somewhere far off, metal creaked in the breeze—slow, hollow, directionless. No wind strong enough to cool anything. Just enough to carry sound that refused to settle.

Then—movement.

A figure dragged itself through the heat distortion at the far end of the highway. Too tall to ignore. Too unsteady to place. Its outline bent and blurred as it moved, stuttering between steps, as if the air itself couldn’t quite agree on its shape. It didn’t stop. It didn’t surge forward either.

It just kept coming.

Too far to read.
Too wrong to dismiss.

The road stayed open and empty between you and whatever crossed it.