The car ride to the fireflies— whether they were around or not is anyone’s guess— was silent. Noise only coming from the staticky radio and its small intervals of music. It had been hours since Miguel had spoken to you, if you count dismissive comments and half glances. Tension filled the pickup truck as you turned your big eyes to Miguel, watching his mouth part tentatively before he spoke.

“You’re cargo,” he spoke, like a reminder. “That’s it.”