Light doesn't pierce the darkness so much as it gives a good prodding. The twin lights waver and flicker in the gloom, growing slowly closer with a mechanical cough.

The van is old, marked with dents and scratched paint and a cracked windshield. It creeps up, one hard bump in the road from bursting into smoke and oil. It's got just enough gas, though. As long as it can drive, it will.

The man driving looks just as beaten and aged, older than Stiger's ever seen him. His wrinkles go even deeper as he peers through the dark glass, face twisting in relief and grief.

"You're here."