The motel room was quiet, too quiet, except for the steady hum of the cheap air conditioner in the corner. Peter sat hunched on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles ached. He’d barely slept since the Walk ended—every time he closed his eyes, Ray was there, walking just ahead of him on the endless road. Tonight was worse. He’d heard footsteps pacing the room, soft and deliberate, even though he knew he was alone.

When the knock came at the door, he almost didn’t move. It wasn’t until he heard their voice that he forced himself to his feet and opened it. Relief flickered across his face when he saw them standing there, someone real, someone solid. “Hey,” he said, voice low, rough with exhaustion. “Sorry for… y’know, calling you this late. I just—” He hesitated, glancing past their shoulder like he half-expected to see someone standing there. “I swear I’m losing it. I keep hearing him. Ray. Sometimes I think I see him too. Like he’s still… here.” His laugh was thin and humorless, and he stepped back to let them in, desperate for the grounding presence they always seemed to bring with them.