Jack Turner reached the edge of the highway where the trees broke apart and the wind picked up again. The sky was wide and flat, the kind of gray that seemed to erase all sense of distance. His truck moved steady along the frozen line of road. The heater worked hard, but cold still crept in through the floor. The sound of the tires over the ice became a slow rhythm that matched his breathing. Every few minutes he would glance at the map, but most of the time he just drove. He didn’t need directions now. He only needed to keep moving north.

By late morning he saw something ahead that made him ease off the gas. A small red car sat tilted at an angle in the snowbank, its front tires half buried. Steam rose from the hood. He slowed to a stop and rolled down the window. No one was inside. The driver’s door was open, and footprints led down the road toward a line of trees. He hesitated a moment, then turned off the truck and followed the prints. The snow reached almost to his knees. The wind pushed against him as he walked.

After fifty yards he saw her—a young woman sitting on a fallen log, hood pulled tight, face pale with cold. She looked up fast when she heard him.

“You alright?” Jack asked.

She nodded, though her hands were shaking. “Car’s dead. I called for help, but there’s no signal.”

“You’re lucky I came through,” Jack said. “You’ll freeze out here.”

She gave a small laugh that had no humor in it. “Yeah, I figured that out.”

He reached out a hand. “Come on. My truck’s warm. We’ll get you out of here.”

She hesitated, studying him. His face lined, his coat worn, his voice calm but firm. Finally she stood. “You don’t look like a serial killer.”

“Not anymore,” he said with a straight face. She blinked, then smiled despite herself. “That’s a joke,” he added.

They made their way back to the road. She climbed into the truck and held her hands near the vents while Jack pulled out a tow rope from the back. He worked slow and steady, clearing snow from around her car, then hooked the rope to the front bumper. After a few tries, the small car rolled free with a groan. Steam still leaked from under the hood.

“You’re not driving that anywhere,” Jack said. “Radiator’s cracked.”

She sighed and looked at the endless white around them. “There’s a motel twenty miles south. I was heading there.”

“Not anymore,” he said. “Nearest place open is forty miles north. I’ll take you there.”

She looked unsure. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Too late,” he said. “Get in.”

They drove in silence for a while. The road curved through low hills. The snow thickened again, blurring the trees into shapes. She kept rubbing her hands together, glancing now and then at him.

“Name’s Maya,” she said finally. “Was driving from Anchorage to see a friend in Fairbanks. Didn’t plan on a car burial.”

“Jack Turner,” he said. “Didn’t plan on finding a rescue mission, but here we are.”

She looked at him sideways. “Firefighter?”

“Used to be,” he said. “Now I just chase lights.”

“The northern kind?”

“The only kind left worth chasing.”

Maya smiled. “You really think they’re worth it?”

“I’ve seen them twice,” Jack said. “Both times felt like the world was breathing. That’s worth something.”

She watched him quietly, as if trying to decide what kind of man he was. “You talk like somebody who’s been alone a long time.”

He nodded. “That’s not wrong.”

They passed a frozen lake. The surface shone silver under the thin light. Maya pressed her hand to the window. “I used to think I’d hate silence,” she said. “But it’s different out here. It feels honest.”

Jack liked that. “Silence is the one thing that doesn’t lie.”

They reached the next outpost after dusk. A low building with flickering lights, a gas pump, and a sign that read Aurora Rest Stop. Jack parked and they both climbed out. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of soup and kerosene. A man behind the counter looked up.

“Road’s rough tonight,” he said. “You two want a room or food first?”

“Both,” Jack said.

They ate at a small table near the stove. Maya cupped her hands around the bowl, face soft in the glow. She looked less lost now, more like someone finding her footing again. “I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t come by,” she said quietly.

“Probably met a bear,” Jack said. She laughed, a real laugh this time, one that warmed the room.

After dinner she stood by the window, staring outside. “Do you think we’ll see the lights tonight?”

Jack joined her. The sky was heavy with clouds, but a faint green shimmer pulsed behind them. “Maybe,” he said. “They like to hide.”

“They sound stubborn.”

“They remind me of people,” Jack said. “Show up when they want, disappear when you try too hard.”

She turned to him. “You talk like you’ve learned that the hard way.”

He smiled. “More than once.”

They stood there for a while, watching the clouds drift. Then she said softly, “I think I was supposed to meet you.”

He shook his head. “No one’s supposed to meet anyone. We just get lucky sometimes.”

Before going to their rooms, Jack gave her the paper bag Dee had packed. “Sandwich and soup left,” he said. “Breakfast.”

Maya took it and smiled. “You always carry extra for strangers?”

“I try to,” he said. “The road likes to throw them at me.”

Later, in his small room, Jack sat on the edge of the bed, notebook open on his lap. He wrote: Helped someone today. Her name’s Maya. The road sent her my way. Maybe that’s what happens when you keep moving—you start crossing paths with people who need light just as much as you do. He paused, then added, It felt good to save someone again.

He closed the book and looked out the window. The clouds had thinned. Faint ribbons of green shimmered far above, bending slow, patient, alive. He whispered, “We saw you again,” and turned off the light.

Outside, the aurora stretched across the quiet world while the two travelers slept, each dreaming of where the road might lead next.