She awoke to find Xavi asleep next to her, the desert landscape stretched across his aviator sunglasses as the autonomous systems guided them. During the night, he’d changed into T-shirt and shorts, his arms and legs revealing their mess of tattoos. His smell filled the car—old coffee and sweat. She wanted to wake him, shake him, tell him to give up on his revenge. Instead, she watched, hands twitching. She needed evidence to get through this; would she risk that to give him what he so desperately wanted? She didn’t know, the question bouncing inside her. She needed a cigarette, needed coffee, needed someone to make decisions for her.