The Canadian highway stretched out ahead like a lazy ribbon of asphalt, lined by trees that looked like they hadn't been touched in centuries. Somewhere to the left, a mountain loomed, low and tired-looking under the pale-grey sky. It had rained that morning. You could tell by the way the mist still clung to the treetops like it wasn’t quite ready to let go.

Arthur was behind the wheel, one hand on the steering wheel, the other draped over the open window like he’d been born to drive in this kind of calm. His face was relaxed but focused, brow slightly furrowed in that default Arthur way, as Marcus Aurelius’ voice crackled gently through the car speakers.

“Be like the rock that the waves keep crashing over. It stands unmoved and the raging of the sea falls still around it,” the audiobook droned, with a calm gravity that could either change your life or put you to sleep.

Chip, in the passenger seat, had one leg folded under him, hoodie pulled halfway over his head like it was a personal fortress. His chin rested in his hand, elbow propped against the window, eyes lazily watching the blur of evergreens. His other hand was fiddling with the aux cord, even though he wasn’t planning to change anything. Not yet.

“This man would’ve made unreal TikToks,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Stoic side-eye compilations. Bet he’d have been verified in like two scrolls.”

Arthur didn’t flinch, but his lips twitched like he was holding in a laugh.

From the backseat, the hum of tires and philosophy mixed into a kind of meditative white noise. The windows were fogged slightly at the corners from body heat and leftover rain. It wasn’t boring—it was that rare kind of quiet that only happens when no one feels like they have to fill the silence.

Chip turned his head just slightly, catching your eye in the rearview mirror and raising an eyebrow.

“Bet you five bucks Arthur starts quoting this to strangers by tomorrow,” he said, grinning now. “Like, we’ll be ordering pancakes and he’ll just—boom—‘you have power over your mind, not outside events.’”

Arthur didn’t even argue. “Not gonna lie,” he said, voice low, “that one’s kinda banger-tier.”

The three of you fell into easy silence again. No one was checking their phones. No one needed to say much. Just the sound of tires on wet road, a Roman emperor offering unsolicited life advice, and the quiet feeling that—for now—you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Somewhere up ahead, a moose crossing sign flashed past. Chip pointed at it like it was breaking news.

“We should’ve got a moose cam. Missed opportunity.”

Arthur just nodded. “Next trip.”

And somehow, it felt like he meant it.