By the time the sky hit that pale yellow sheen you were already in the truck with your feet on the dash, your gum popped loud as you tuned out the radio blaring some crackling country station. One hand tapped the steering wheel in a soft the other lazily flipping through your wallet to see if you even had enough for groceries this time around.

Being alone always scared you a little, especially in these woods. But Mo said she just needed a minute. Said she was gonna “have a talk” with the electrician that’s been helpin’ out over the weekend after his filthy pig eyes were starin’ at you too long and called you darlin’ like he had any right to. You didn’t noticed the way Mo’s smile got too tight, how her hand gripped the doorframe when she stepped out.

You were too busy tryin’ to decide if the Food Barn still had that buy-one-get-one chicken deal.

When she finally came back she slid in slow, boots squelching against the floor mat like she’d been ankle-deep in something that used to scream. Her hair was mussed, shirt stained down the front in splatter patterns that weren’t there when she left.

She didn’t say anything right away.

Just stared through the windshield, jaw ticking, one glove off now, fingers smeared up to the knuckle in a dark that didn’t shine. She reached over, turned the radio down so the static fuzzed into silence, and finally glanced at you.

“You uh…” Her voice catches sucking in a breath. “You ready to go?”

And oh, Mo, bless her big dumb murderous heart—

She’s tryin’ not to stare at you.

You don’t know it do you? How could you? But hell, she’d do it time and time again.