Stan pulled the Huracán out of the campus lot and fell in behind the convoy of buses, three of them, lumbering and unhurried, their indicators blinking in synchronized sequence as they navigated the morning traffic toward the coastal road.
The drive settled into an easy rhythm. The city thinned around them as they moved outward, dense commercial blocks giving way to lower buildings, then to open stretches of coastal road where the Inksea glittered in irregular silver flashes through the tree line to the east.
Beside him, Maya had produced a sheaf of papers from her bag and was reading through them with the focused, slightly obsessive attention of someone revisiting work they already knew well but couldn't quite stop checking. She'd read through the stack at least twice since they'd left campus. Her lips moved slightly over certain lines. Occasionally she'd nod, small, private, self-affirming.
