The Storm
The sky was this bruised tone of gray, thick clouds entering like an omen. The wind howled down the streets, rattling the signs and slapping against the buildings. It was one of those storms that felt personal, as if the world itself had a warning to give them.
Adrian tightened his grip on the steering wheel. His knuckles were white, his jaw set. He could hear Flora breathing beside him, steady but sharp, like she was trying to control the chaos inside her chest.
“You don’t have to come,” he said.
Flora scoffed. “Shut up and drive.”
Vincent leaned forward from the backseat. “We’re really doing this, huh?”
Lorne, sitting next to him, snorted. “Like there was ever another option.”
Adrian said nothing. He only hit the gas, the car lurching forward.
The warehouse ahead of the
