Ninety days.
The timeline burns in my mind like I've stared too long at the sun.
We don't have three weeks anymore.
We have less.
CHAPTER 9
ROGAN
The sky opens up halfway to the barn.
One moment I'm crossing the field behind Ivy, watching her braid swing against her canvas jacket. The next, the clouds split and dump what feels like the entire Pacific Ocean directly onto my head.
"Shit!" Ivy breaks into a run.
I follow, boots slipping in mud that materializes in seconds. Rain hammers my shoulders. Turns the path into a creek. By the time we reach the barn door, I'm soaked through to my socks.
Ivy yanks the door open. We stumble inside. She slams it shut behind us, and the roar of rain becomes muffled, almost peaceful.
Almost.
Because the roof is leaking in three places I can see immediately, and probably six more I can't.
"Perfect." Ivy strips off her jacket. Wrings it out onto the dirt floor. "This is exactly what I needed today."
"Could be worse."
"How?"
I point at the rafters where a brown goat with one crooked horn stares down at us like we're idiots. "That one could be peeing on our heads."
"That's Houdini. Give him five minutes."
The goat bleats. Definitely sounds judgmental.
Ivy grabs a bucket from the corner. Shoves it under the worst leak with more force than strictly necessary. Water plinks against the metal, steady as a metronome.
"There's tarps in the loft." She doesn't look at me. Just points up. "We patch the roof from inside, or this whole place floods."
"Got it."
I climb the ladder. Wood creaks under my weight, old but solid. The loft smells like dried alfalfa and dust. Tarps are folded in a neat stack against the wall because of course they are. Ivy probably labeled them by size and waterproof rating.
I grab the biggest one. Start back down.
Houdini appears directly in my path.
"Move, buddy."
The goat chews thoughtfully. Doesn't budge.
"Seriously. I have work to do."
Houdini leans forward. Grabs the corner of the tarp in his teeth.
"No. Bad goat. That's not food."
