The asphalt ribbon slid beneath the wheels, cutting through dry fields where summer had already faded. The air outside the window was clear, stretching far beyond the horizon, as if the road itself led into infinity. Sparse, wind-bent trees passed by from time to time — like quiet witnesses to their journey.
Inside the car, a gentle silence reigned, broken only by the soft rustle of air seeping through a slightly open window. The smell of freshly brewed coffee from a thermos mingled with the scent of leather seats and a faint trace of cold morning air. Light filtered through the glass, refreshing the space around them, yet nothing disturbed the overall stillness. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the soft whisper of tires blended into a kind of road melody.
Oliver gripped the steering wheel with both hands, eyes fixed on the road ahead, though there was still a long way to go. From time to time, his fingers tensed slightly — as if waiting for something unknown.
In the back seat, leaning against the window, sat Eneya. She was seventeen, and in recent years had learned to stay silent longer than her parents would have liked. Music played faintly in her ears — more a presence than actual sound. She stared at the scattered trees and empty fields without focusing on anything in particular.
Next to her lay Teo — her dog, or rather, what looked like a real dog. Its mechanical breathing gave off a barely audible hum, yet somehow it felt warm and alive.
"We should've stopped at a motel," Nora said at last.
She was sitting next to him, tracing a faint scratch on the plastic door panel — the one that had been there since last summer, when they were coming back from the sea. She'd hit it with her umbrella, rushing to the car in the rain. Oliver remembered how they'd laughed.
"There were too many people," he replied, without taking his eyes off the road.
Now silence settled between them — the kind shared by people who have lived together long enough not to fill every pause with words.
Oliver nodded. But he wasn't sure they all still wanted the same thing.
Ahead, the road narrowed, disappearing into a light haze that drifted down from the hills. The car slid forward slowly, as if moving through a gray, tired day, where even the light felt thinned out. They hadn't seen another vehicle in a long time — no oncoming cars, no turn-offs to gas stations or cafés. Just faded trees, sun-bleached signs, and half-collapsed barns beyond the fields — everything looked as if it had been left behind.
Raindrops suddenly began to appear on the windshield. They fell sparsely, but with a dull thud — each one seeming to pierce the silence. The rain was starting slowly, hesitantly, as if it too was weighing whether to disturb this sluggish, gray stillness.
Nora stared out the window, but not at the view. Her gaze settled on her own reflection — blurred and softened by moisture. The glass reflected not her face, but a mood — a tired shadow of herself, with tight lips and eyes recalling something. In profile, in that half-light, she looked younger. Or perhaps lonelier.
She absentmindedly traced a finger across the fogged glass. She drew a short streak — a line that vanished almost immediately. It seemed she was about to say something, but changed her mind.
"Are you sure we turned off the highway the right way?" she asked, her tone unchanged.
"Yes," Oliver replied curtly. "There was no other way."
Silence returned. Teo yawned, softly clicking his jaws, then curled up on the seat. His eyes slowly dimmed, as if entering a night mode of rest.
Up ahead, for a few seconds, an old sign came into view — an arrow with faded lettering pointing toward a village whose name was impossible to make out. The letters were bleached, the metal plate tilted to one side.
Oliver slowed slightly. The cabin grew even quieter. They passed what looked like an abandoned field — overgrown with weeds, and in its center, a concrete pipe jutted from the ground like someone's forgotten idea. There was no sound — no birds, no cars, no wind.
"Why is everything here so... empty?" Eneya whispered. It was the first thing she'd said in over an hour.
Within minutes, it grew noticeably darker. Not like evening — but suddenly, as if from somewhere inside the sky. The clouds pulled tight, like someone had thrown a heavy blanket over the world. The sun vanished without a trace — no golden hue, no edge of horizon. The world was closing in on them slowly, relentlessly — like a door that would never open again.
The navigator stayed silent. The signal had dropped several minutes earlier, and even the mobile network was failing — brief flickers that wouldn't connect. In the back seat, Eneya occasionally glanced at her phone, swiping the screen, but nothing responded.
The dashboard clock read 5:40 PM, though the sky already resembled late evening. The light was fading unnaturally fast — as if someone had cut the day short mid-breath. Clouds spread like heavy curtains, and the air grew damp and thick, almost touchable.
The car slid along the road, passing solitary trees — silent and darkened by the rain. Nothing stirred — no people, no signs, not even the faintest sound.
"We've been driving for over an hour," Nora said with a shrug. "And we still don't know where we are."
"We're not lost," Oliver said. But there was more weariness than certainty in his
voice.
"Just like always. You drive without asking. Pretend everything's under control."
Oliver didn't reply. Their silence was no longer neutral — it carried the weight of an old argument both remembered, but neither wished to revisit.
In the back seat, Eneya turned her gaze to the window, pretending not to hear.
She always pretended. At first, she hadn't understood. Now, she simply didn't want to. Those sudden bursts between her parents were like old creaks in the house: jarring at first, then just part of the background.
She adjusted her earphones, even though the music had long since stopped. Teo pressed against her leg again — at least he was consistent.
"So, are we really spending the night in the car?" she said — not threatening, but with a cold irony.
"Don't dramatize," Oliver grumbled.
Suddenly, a sharp sound came from under the seat — something had fallen and rolled, striking a metal leg.
Eneya leaned down and recognized it — a replacement cartridge with cooling fluid that Teo "spat out" every few weeks. She sighed again, as if it weren't just a part, but a sign of routine that tethered her to this strange, uncertain world.
Suddenly, the car jolted sharply. The cartridge rolled under Oliver's feet.
"I've got it," he muttered, bending down to pick it up.
The road was dangerous — twisting uphill, with the curve hidden behind the trees.
And in that moment, without warning, a van shot around the bend from the opposite direction. It emerged from the shadows — heavy, its headlights dim and dirty, without a single honk.
Oliver yanked the steering wheel. The tires spun, the car skidded. The cabin lifted for a moment — no one was prepared.
The van roared past, leaving behind only a wet shadow and the shriek of tires. Just a few centimeters more, and the crash would have been unavoidable.
Oliver slammed the brakes, his hands clutching the wheel. His fingers trembled, and his heart pounded so loudly it felt like it might burst from his chest.
"Barely…" he whispered.
Nora whipped around, gripping the edge of her seat.
"What are you doing?!" she shouted — her voice laced with fear and sharp frustration. "You could've—" She didn't finish. She turned back to the window.
Eneya remained silent, but something had shifted in her gaze — not tears, not fear, but the stillness left behind after a scream.
The air in the cabin grew thicker. The windows fogged. Rain drummed on the glass. The electronics buzzed faintly.
The car rolled forward slowly, as if wary of meeting the world again.
Beyond the trees, through the thinning veil of rain, windows appeared — glowing yellow in the dark like a still from a foreign film.
"There," Oliver said, his eyes locked on the distance. "There's a house. Let's stop — maybe someone can tell us how to get to the town."
"If there's anyone still alive there at all," Nora said, scanning where he was looking. "And if it's not the only house for dozens of miles."
"If someone's there, we'll ask and go," Oliver muttered to himself.
The car turned off the asphalt onto a narrow, uneven climb. And at that moment, the sky — which had held itself in check all this time — finally tore open. The rain, which until now had been muted, broke into a storm. Large drops hammered the windshield, forming a dense, almost living curtain.
The car struggled uphill, its wheels sinking into softened earth that already resembled light mud, and the chassis shuddered slightly from the roughness.
The driver-assist system activated the internal "Retinal Projection System" — a mode where the windshield dimmed from the inside and the image projected directly onto the driver's retina. Eneya disliked it — she said it felt like someone else was watching her through the road.
But in the darkness, through the sheets of rain, the house was clearly visible. It stood on the slope, as if accidentally left in the middle of a space where nothing was supposed to be. A brick house, a wooden porch, three windows glowing — and no movement around.
The car continued its strained ascent — the water-slick road barely gripping the tires. Every meter grew harder than the last, as if the ground beneath them no longer wanted to bear the weight. Water washed over the earth, forming muddy streams, and everything outside the windows blurred into a single gray mass. The wheels tore at the surface, spinning erratically, as if unsure whether to stop or push on.
The darkness was unnatural for this hour — heavy with rain and thick with cloud, it wrapped the world as though the storm itself had dragged the day into its long, brooding stillness. Oliver leaned forward slightly, though there was no need — the windshield was already in prism mode. The road ahead was sharp and responsive: smooth rendering, softened contours, as if the car and the world were part of the same machine. The system worked autonomously — in critical conditions it needed no internet, no external signal. But the habit of leaning in — of searching through difficult conditions — had stayed with him from years before, when there were no projections at all. He didn't trust this transparent perfection. If not for Nora's talk of safety, and Eneya's tension every time the old fuel pump faltered — stalling the engine in the middle of the road — he might never have switched cars. But after that trip, the one where the pump failed on a serpentine pass and Nora had said nothing, only gripped their daughter's hand — even Oliver had started to think about a newer car. One with modern electronics and safety systems. One where things simply worked. After all, peace of mind was worth investing in.
Oliver's gaze drifted once more above the projection — he wanted to glimpse, even from the corner of his eye, something that couldn't be computed. Something real. The navigator was silent. The arrow frozen. Route unchanged. Signal lost back on the slope. All that remained was the steering wheel, both hands gripping it, and the rain — growing denser, almost tangible.
"I don't like this," Nora said quietly, watching the world through the side window. "The road's more like a trench. If we get stuck, we won't get out."
The slope steepened. The car slipped, and for a moment it seemed it might slide back down. But it held. A few seconds later, they reached a small clearing just before the porch. The wall of rain loosened slightly, revealing the old brick house — dim light glowing behind three windows.
It was quiet around them. Not a sound except for the steady hum of the rain.
Oliver switched off the engine.
"I'll be quick. Just ask, then come back," he said, grabbing a light jacket from the seat and pulling it over his shirt. The motion was almost pointless — the fabric soaked through the instant he opened the door.
The rain hit with renewed force, as if someone had turned the lever a few notches higher. Water lashed down his back, soaked his collar, and trickled under his cuffs. Oliver hunched, lowered his head, and walked briskly toward the porch. The ground squelched beneath his feet, clinging to his boots, splashing up to his knees.
When he stepped onto the wooden stairs, the jacket clung to his back — wet and sticky. The hood was useless now; water ran down his cheeks and neck.
On the porch, it was a little quieter. The rain hammered the roof with a dull, steady rumble. The house's windows were dark, but the light inside was alive — not flickering, not warm, just steady and slightly muted. He stepped toward the door and glanced back at the car — it stood behind the rain curtain, as if trapped inside a film.
He raised his hand to knock... but the door creaked open on its own.
Oliver froze. For a second, maybe two. He hadn't even realized he hadn't heard the lock click.
Before him, bathed in the soft light of the hallway, stood a woman in a simple gray apron. Her hands were busy drying a towel, and something like surprise lingered on her face.
"Excuse me," the woman said, opening the door a little wider. In the hallway light, her calm face came into focus, framed by strands of dark hair tucked behind her ear. "I was just finishing up in the kitchen," she added, raising her hands — flour still clung to her fingers. "I heard you arrive."
Oliver nodded, soaked through, water running from his forehead down into his collar. He gave a small shrug and swallowed the cold air.
"We were just looking for a motel," he said. "Thought maybe someone could tell us if it's far."
"It's about six miles from here to the town. But this hill..." She glanced back into the dark behind him. "Once the downpour starts, the road gets washed out right away. You probably won't get back properly. It wasn't worth coming up here by car. Better to take the highway — there's a proper entrance to town, so you wouldn't get lost."
"I see," Oliver said, offering a tight smile. "Thank you. We just... saw the first house in over sixty miles. Thought we'd ask..."
He trailed off, cursing himself silently, summoning from memory that inner lexicon of polite disappointment. For a moment, their eyes met. He nodded slightly in thanks.
"In any case — thank you very much. Sorry to bother you."
The woman didn't respond, only gave a quiet nod — as if waiting for him to reach the logical conclusion on his own.
Turning, Oliver walked toward the car. Each step felt heavier. Water sloshed in his shoes, and the cold seeped into his bones. He wanted to come up here himself — now he gets it, he thought irritably, clenching his jaw. As he approached the vehicle, his shoulders were tight, his stride abrupt.
He slid into the seat and pressed the start button — nothing. The dashboard didn't even flicker.
"The motel's out by the town," he said to Nora, draping a blanket over her shoulders. "About six miles down. But first, we have to get off this hill."
"Great," Nora replied sharply, making no effort to hide the tone. The irony in her voice was unmistakable.
Oliver pressed the button again. Silence. The panel stayed dead — no lights, no signs of life. The car, which just ten minutes ago had been clawing its way uphill through the mud, now sat completely still, inert. As if something had simply shut it off.
"No, no, not now..." he muttered, pressing the button harder. Nothing.
"What's wrong with it?" Nora asked, her voice cold.
"Nothing," Oliver snapped, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. "It just... died."
Nora barely shook her head — not in protest, just in resignation. Her eyes held no surprise, no reaction. Only a dull, practiced acceptance. As if she'd already known.
Eneya flinched. She sat staring at the front seat, her fingers clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. Something in her father's voice struck her like a wave of panic — not the words themselves, but the sound of them. Like a shot. A blow that came from inside, not out.
Teo shifted and moved a paw — a soft motion, but with that faint mechanical rhythm that always gave him away.
"Incredible," Nora said flatly, slapping her hands on her hips. Her smile was cold and tight, with no trace of humor. "Perfect weather for a walk."
Oliver pressed the button one last time. Still nothing.
When he lowered his hands, his eyes instinctively lifted. The woman was still standing in the doorway, holding it open. Watching. Not curious. Not angry. Just... waiting.
"Well..." he murmured under his breath. "Looks like we're staying…"