The static on the radio cut out, leaving nothing but the heavy rhythm of the falling rain against the windshield. Inside the car, the air smelled of old leather and cold coffee.

"This is as far as I go, Nurhan," Demir said, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a fatigue that went bone-deep.

"No," Demir replied, reaching into his jacket to pull out a weathered, wax-sealed envelope. He placed it gently on the dashboard between them. "I’m making sure someone survives to tell the story."