Returning to the Mustang
He made his way back to the Mustang, feeling an invisible thread tie him to the family he had barely known.
There it sat, half-sunken into the forest floor, its frame cloaked in rust and silence.
Jake ran his fingers over the hood, imagining what life had been like for his parents just before they vanished.
He slipped into the driver’s seat, inhaling the musty air of the cabin, absorbing the final moments that had once taken place here.
This car was more than a clue—it was a monument to his past.
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