POV: Finn

The bag sits on the passenger seat like it might break if I hit a bump too hard. I keep one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting near it, fingers brushing the worn canvas every few minutes just to make sure it is still there. It is heavier than it looks. Or maybe that is just me projecting every year of silence and every lie I believed onto the fabric.

I have not been to the compound before. The gates are high, the guards at the checkpoint look like they do not smile for anyone. I roll down my window when one of them approaches....