Through the Buick’s windshield, a billboard looms against the burning sky – three figures caught in a moment of sacred geometry. The image seems to hover between photography and painting, between advertisement and revelation.

Lynch’s hands tighten on the wheel. “Would you look at that,” he breathes. “The Algorithm, right there on Sunset Boulevard.”

Crosby leans forward, those famous clear blue eyes narrowing beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. “Three queens of three different kingdoms,” he says. “Moving like they’ve tapped into something older than time.”

The billboard doesn’t name them – doesn’t need to. Their poses form a triangle of perfect tension, each figure both supporting and opposing the others. The background is a swirl of stars and city lights, impossible to tell which is which.

“Strange timing,” Lynch muses. “Seeing that right after Gia. Like the universe is trying to tell us something about beauty and transformation.”

“And danger,” Crosby adds softly. “Don’t forget the danger.”

The Buick glides past the billboard, but its image seems to burn itself into the rearview mirror, following us east into the gathering dark. Three figures, three paths, one algorithm. Another piece of the puzzle we’re chasing across America.

The night deepens around us, and somewhere ahead, Route 66 beckons with its own mysterious geometries.