Chapter 1: Desert Dust and Broken Dreams
The Arizona sun was just showing off, honestly—blasting the hell outta Route 66 and making the whole damn road look like a sweaty fever dream. Rae Miller (yeah, Raven, but don’t call her that unless you’re her parole officer) squinted through a windshield so bug-splattered it looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. Her grip on the steering wheel? Death grip. White knuckles, no circulation, pure stress. The temp gauge was flirting with the danger zone, an
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