And then he remembered.
Not as a thought but as a collision of memories.
Metal screaming. Tires shrieking across asphalt. The violent jolt of the steering wheel jerking in his hands.
They were escorting General Norse and the others back to the capital then. He was driving the truck, and he just shifted his gaze for a second to the scenery to his left.
Then the sedan came from the right.
It was too fast and too close.
The officer beside him shouted.
He slammed the brakes, but it was too late.
The world spun.
The car skidded sideways, tires losing their grip. For one frozen second, he saw the terrified faces inside the vehicle in front of him, the woman reaching out for the grab handle above her.
Then the impact came.
A deafening crash of metal folding in on itself.
Glass exploded like a thousand knives.
The car flipped.
Once.
Twice.
