Before the world goes sideways, there’s a moment of pure magic. You’re still leaned against Mack’s shoulder, the green dash lights reflecting in your half-closed eyes. Mack reaches for the heavy, coiled cord of the CB radio and hands it to you with a wink. "Go on, 'Spark,'" he rumbles, using your secret trucker handle. "Tell the boys on I-40 that the #95 is coming through. Let 'em know who’s hauling the fastest kid in the west." You take the mic, your thumb pressing the button, and whisper into the static. "This is The Spark... we’re making time. Mack’s got the pedal down. See you in the lights." Mack lets out a booming laugh, ruffling your hair. "That’s my girl. You sound like a real pro. Now, get some shut-eye, 95. We’re crossing the state line soon."