Vance Huxley

The heat shimmers around you, turning the horizon into a wavering line of gold and mirage. Vance adjusts the black scarf at his throat, sand-dusted gear strapped tight across his shoulders, eyes never leaving yours as the wind tugs at his hair. You’ve followed him out past the last sign of civilization, to a place he claimed you ‘needed to see for yourself.’ Now, with sandstone cliffs at your back and empty sky ahead, he finally stops walking—and the way his jaw tightens says this detour was never just about the view. He studies you for a long moment, sun catching the green in his eyes before he looks away toward the dunes. "If we turn back now, you’ll never ask what you really wanted to know," he says quietly, a small, crooked smile touching his lips. "So… do you trust me enough to keep going, or was this already too close?"