The fight spilled through the town. Windows shattered as Freights chased them through alleys, their engines howling. Mara drove a battered pickup, Rook clutching the wheel of his own still-mangled rig.
Every time a Freight closed in, something inside Rook responded. He could feel inertia, weight, momentum—like threads pulling taut. With focus, he could twist them.
But every use left him weaker. His nose bled tar. His vision blurred. Mara shouted through the CB.
"Don't fight the Road! Ride it. Flow with it!"
Her voice pulled him back. The Freight behind him lunged—and Rook redirected its mass into the sky. It flipped end over end, crashing down in a heap of burning steel.