Even the air felt watchful, like it was holding something back. That’s when I saw him. He was walking along the shoulder of the road, hands tucked into the pockets of a thin jacket, head slightly lowered. There was nothing illegal about it. People walked at night all the time—night shifts, early shifts, insomniacs trying to burn off restlessness.
But something about the way he moved caught my attention. He wasn’t wandering or meandering. His pace was steady, deliberate. Each step landed with the same rhythm, as if he were following a path already laid out in his head. When my headlights swept over him, he didn’t look up or react. He just kept walking.