The sound rolled outward through the empty morning and then the road was silent again, and still, and the dark car was already moving — accelerating away from the scene without slowing, without stopping, its lights still off, disappearing around the far end of the road in a matter of seconds as though it had never been there at all.
Evelyn's car sat at an angle against the base of two trees, the engine dead, one wheel still turning slowly in the air where the verge had dropped away. Steam was beginning to rise from the crumpled bonnet in thin pale threads. The rear door, warped in its frame, hung partly open. Inside, the files lay scattered across the floor.
The road was empty.
The morning was very quiet.
The birds did not return to the trees.
…
Elena was still asleep when her phone rang. She reached for it without opening her eyes. Registering the name on the screen, she opened her eyes.
Dad.
Her father never called her in the morning.
She sat up and answered.
"Dad."
