You barely registered the words. Outside, a rusted fence stretched along the horizon, swallowed by sprawling green. A cow stood in the middle of a field, staring at nothing.

Your finger traced a lazy line along the window glass, smudging the dust.

He paused, as if waiting for some kind of acknowledgment. When none came, he continued.

Seconds stretched. The engine hummed. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

You let out a lazy, indifferent hum.

The silence between you thickened. He shifted in his seat, one hand tightening on the steering wheel.

His tone was flatter now. No longer instructional. Almost like a warning.

He let that sink in. The truck slowed as the dirt road curved ahead, revealing the first glimpse of the ranch house—weathered wood, a wraparound porch, a rusted weather vane creaking in the breeze.

He pulled the truck to a stop. The engine idled.