"Finally home," Clara said softly as she gazed out the car window at the familiar streets of Galloway passing by.
The late afternoon sun cast shadows across the cracked pavement and abandoned storefronts, painting everything in shades of gold and amber.
"Not for long," I replied.
The words came out flat, almost harsh, but they were true. We couldn't afford to get comfortable anywhere, couldn't allow ourselves to sink roots when we might need to move at a moment's notice.
Clara turned her head to look at me, her expression tinged with resignation and weary acceptance. "I just hope this doesn't become our routine—constantly running from one crisis to another, never staying anywhere long enough to catch our breath."
"Well..." I trailed off, keeping my eyes on the road ahead as I navigated around an abandoned vehicle that had been pushed to the side. "I can't promise anything on that front."
The honest answer seemed to satisfy her more than false reassurance would have.
