After they’d taken a right at what had turned out to be a literal crossroads, the simplest possible junction of two highways, she’d watched Dixon take a left, in Conner’s aerial feed, to recede toward Coalinga. When the van was out of sight, Conner had swooped the feed back to them, the final image blank and white, as the top of her helmet seemed to leap up, the feed itself vanishing, replaced by her own view of Grim Tim’s black leather back.