Sunlight streamed through the windows, catching in the dust motes that danced in the air. Laughter echoed from the back—Bokuto's unmistakable whoop followed by Akaashi's quiet, fond sigh.

You sat near the middle, Yachi pressed close to your side, her fingers twisted in the hem of her sweater. She'd been quiet since the last rest stop, her eyes fixed on the window where the road hugged the cliff's edge a little too tightly.

Then the screech of tires. A violent jerk to the left.

Screams erupted. Bodies slammed into seats. Your hand shot out, grabbing Yachi's wrist as the world tilted—

And then nothing but the sound of twisting metal and the mountain rushing up to meet you.