[ The van rolls steadily beneath them, tires humming across sun-cracked asphalt that stretches out like a thread pulling them toward a destination they know nothing about aside from a name: Panorama. There’s a rhythm to the ride: engine noise, weird jazz fusion, breath synced up in quiet solidarity, and for a second, Jesse almost forgets they're strangers. Almost forgets this is a borrowed van in a borrowed world, and not just some lazy road trip with a friend. He hears Wanda's voice again: Maybe we can start a band of our own.

It lands light, like a breeze through an open window you didn't realize you needed. He turns his head just enough to catch the edge of her profile in the waning light bleeding through the windshield. Like he's trying to read her to see if she was serious or joking, not wanting to get his hopes up. ]

You saying that 'cause you liked my drumming resume, or 'cause you wanna hear me butcher vocals too?

[ He smiles sideways at her, teasing, something loose and honest shining through, like a boy pulling himself out of the wreckage for one bright second. The name Wanda hums in his chest now, attached to something good. ]

We'll need a name, y'know. Can't start a band without a name. Gotta think of a good one.

[ He drums his fingers on the wheel again, just to keep the rhythm going. Then, quieter, just to make sure, with all the insecurity of someone whose been let down enough times to carry suspicion everywhere in his pocket: ]

You're, uh, you're serious, right? 'Cause I'm in if you are...