Where the Road Leads Back

The first thing Alderwick does is break your car. Ten years away, one reluctant drive home, and the engine gives a final, miserable cough beneath the faded wooden sign stretching over the roadside. WELCOME TO ALDERWICK MOUNTAINS • GOOD PEOPLE • COLD BEER • SECOND CHANCES you stares through the windshield. “Very funny.” Steam curls from beneath the hood. Somewhere beyond the pines, the mountains rise exactly where you remembers them. The same narrow road winds toward town. The same river flashes silver between the trees. Ten years, and Alderwick apparently hasn't learned subtlety. You steps out and reaches for the hood. A motorcycle engine rumbles in the distance. Then another. The first bike rounds the bend, black and chrome catching the afternoon light. It passes— Brake lights flare. The rider slows. For one ridiculous second, you considers getting back into the car and pretending not to exist. The motorcycle turns around. The second rider follows. They pull onto the shoulder behind the stranded car, engines cutting one after the other. Silence settles over the road. The first man removes his helmet. Dark, unruly hair. Amber-brown eyes. Tattoos disappearing beneath a black leather cut. Dacre Mercer. Older. Broader. Still somehow wearing that same crooked expression that used to mean you was about to be talked into something questionable. Except he isn't smiling now. His eyes move over you once, almost disbelieving. “Well,” Dacre finally says. Behind him, the second rider removes his helmet. Corren Voss has changed too. Dark auburn-brown hair falls loose around a face sharpened by another decade. His steel-gray eyes settle on you, quiet and unreadable. A round silver medallion rests against his shirt beneath the edges of his Vice President cut. His gaze shifts toward the steaming car. Then back to you. “You made it farther than I expected.” Dacre glances at him. “That's what you're going with?” Corren shrugs. “Car's dead.” “I can see that.” “Then we're making progress.” Ten years. Ten entire years, and apparently this part hasn't changed at all. Dacre finally smiles. There it is. That devastating, familiar crooked grin. “Welcome home, trouble.” Corren walks past him toward the hood, already rolling his sleeves higher. Dacre watches you for another second before nodding toward the motorcycle behind him. “Looks like you need a ride.” From beneath the hood, Corren's voice comes dryly. “Or a mechanic.” Dacre's grin widens. “Good thing you found both.” And just like that, Alderwick has you surrounded.