Aang drove. Katara sat up front with him, and Sokka lay sprawled out on the back seat, looking extremely bored while Katara and Aang chatted.

"So, you don't have a radio in here at all?" she was asking, still smiling at him. Aang was smiling as he stared straight ahead, at the road.

"Nope," he said. "I guess I've never noticed that I don't have music playing. It's always in my head anyway."

"Yeah, I bet he hears things in his head," Sokka muttered under his breath, but neither of them heard him, and if they did, they didn't pay him any mind.

They also didn't pay any mind to the motorcycle that zoomed past them in the lane next to them, nor the black BMW trailing fast behind it. The boy on the motorcycle was about nineteen. His head was ducked low and his face was hidden behind his helmet. He leaned forward as he accelerated, speeding out of sight.

The BMW, however, stayed perfectly at the speed limit. It never went a mile under or a mile over, except when at stop signs or turning.

"I don't see why he has to drive like that," said an old man in the back seat of the BMW. He was taking slow sips of tea from a travel mug. "It's like he wants to call attention to himself."

"I—I don't know, General Iroh, sir," said one of the two men in the car besides Iroh. It was obvious he was nervous.

"It was simply a rhetorical question," Iroh said slowly, softly, and took another sip of tea. The man looked uncomfortable still, but Iroh just smiled and continued sipping his tea.

Up ahead, the one on the motorcycle zoomed off into the parking lot of an old-looking Italian restaurant. The BMW followed behind and parked perfectly in a spot next to the two he was parked horizontally across.

He took off his helmet and shook his hair—it was black, which made him look even paler than he actually was. The only part of him that wasn't pale was a large, purple-red burn covering his left eye and a good portion of his face.

"This is stupid," he said venomously as Iroh got out of the car. "We've been driving aimlessly for days. We're not going o find him if we don't actually look!" Iroh smiled at him.

"Well then, Zuko, what do you think we should do? Where should we look?"

"Let's just turn around and look in Colorado again."

"Again, Zuko? But I thought you said it was pointless."

"Well—I—I changed my mind!" he yelled angrily. A couple had walked out of the restaurant and glanced at them nervously, but Iroh smiled.

"Zuko, maybe we should just stop looking. Wouldn't you rather—''

"NO!" Zuko yelled, even louder this time. "Now get in the car—we're going to Colorado!" He glared at the two men that had come with Iroh, who were looking at him, frightened and dumbstruck.

"I said we're going!" Zuko yelled once more, and put his helmet back on his head. He hopped back onto the motorcycle and started it furiously, the sound of the revving engine reverberating off every solid object around them. He sped off, giving them just enough time to trail him.

Zuko was still fuming inside his helmet. Just stop looking? How dare he? Iroh knew what it would mean for Zuko to just… Stop looking. Sometimes, he tought, his uncle could be the biggest idiot or the biggest ass hole he knew. He just couldn't figured out which one it was.