What if I was too late?
The drive was a goddamn nightmare. The roads were a mess, barely more than dirt trails winding through endless stretches of forest and rocky hills.
I could feel every bump and rut in the road through the steering wheel, and each one made me grip it tighter, like I could somehow wring the frustration out of my own muscles if I squeezed hard enough.
The hours dragged on, the car's engine growling with the strain as I pushed it to its limits. I didn't give a damn about the speed limits or the treacherous curves I needed to get there, and I needed to get there fast.
My thoughts were all over the place, a tangled mess of worry, anger, and something else that I didn't want to examine too closely. I kept telling myself this was just another mission, that I was doing this out of duty.
That was the story, anyway, the one I kept repeating in my head like some kind of fucked-up mantra.