Andy draws a line in the dewy window with his pinky. A cascade of water bleeds out like a meaty cut.

“This is how far we’ve gone. In just one year.”

He swabs another line, diverging down from the end of the first line.

“This is where we’re going. Where you’re going, anyway.”

Edie stares at the new line. Two lines. Two directions. Each on their own.

She scrubs out the lines with her palm, creating a fan-shaped view of the emptiness just outside.

“We jump again," she says. "Together.”