The sun spilled gold across the New York skyline, casting long shadows over the AMP House. It was too early for the usual chaos—no music echoing from the basement studio, no arguments over breakfast cereal, no late-night fashion emergencies. Just stillness.
Zora stood on the roof, hoodie pulled over her tangled braids, strumming her guitar softly as the wind tangled the last chords of her song with the city's breath. Her journal lay beside her, pages fluttering like they were ready to take flight.
Downstairs, Athena was stuffing fabric rolls into a duffel bag like they were essentials for survival.
"They're for inspiration," she mumbled when Asher walked in, raising an eyebrow.
"You bringing the whole garment district too, or... just the apocalypse wardrobe?" he asked, holding up a tangled mess of charging cables and an old camcorder.
Athena smirked. "Memories matter, hacker boy. You'll thank me when this trip inspires your next conspiracy theory."
Meanwhile, Axel was checking the van, triple-strapping the surfboards to the roof, even though none of them knew how to surf. "Just in case," he'd said with a shrug.
Enzo was staring at an old, yellowing map he'd found weeks ago in a dusty corner of Brooklyn Public Library. No digital trail. No explanation. Just one word scribbled in the corner in a language no translation app could decipher:
Keitha.
He didn't tell anyone about it yet. Not even Sylvia.
She was twirling in the hallway, headphones on, dance moves sharp but wild. "Final road trip dance warm-up," she declared, almost crashing into Blair, who was lugging two guitar cases and a broken keyboard.
"Did we really need to bring three instruments for three days?" Blair huffed.
Ace strolled in behind them, sunglasses on, iced coffee in hand like he was already famous. "Don't question the vibe, Blair. The vibe is sacred."
By 10:00 AM, the squad had loaded into the van, snacks stacked to the roof, music blasting, windows down.
"No GPS?" Zora asked from the passenger seat.
"Nope," Asher replied from behind the wheel. "We're going old school."
"You mean lost school," Blair muttered.
Sylvia grinned. "That's the point."
They were two hours out of the city when the signal dropped. Phones glitched. The air felt heavier. Denser. Like they were driving through the edge of a dream.
"Anyone else feel that?" Axel asked, adjusting the rereview mirror. "The road's... different."
Enzo finally spoke. "It's not on any map."
Asher frowned. "Then where are we?"
Enzo turned, held up the worn map he hadn't shown anyone—
And in a whisper that seemed to echo through the van, he said:
"Somewhere we were never meant to find."