Sometimes, it just feels good to drive. Not even particularly dangerously, forcing himself to focus on every weight shift and turn. Sometimes it just felt good to have the world move under your tires. Maybe it was a false sense of progress, but maybe that was enough of a thread of hope.

So he's driving, headlamps off, through the dim light, heading closer to the water, engine thrumming. He spots the shape, and slows, not sure if he should approach. Because whoever's out here, might want to be left alone, too.