Torres mutters, “Another one?”
Hayes ignores it. “Forecast has it strengthening fast. Expected to make landfall within forty-eight hours.”
Carter lets out a low whistle. “What are we talking?”
Hayes’s jaw tightens.
“Category five.”
That gets a reaction.
Not loud. Just a subtle shift. Because that’s not nothing. That’s serious. But still?—
I lean back slightly, crossing my arms, not nearly as concerned as I probably should be. We’ve done this before. Too many times to count. Storms that look bad on paper, then veer off at the last second.
Evacuations that turn into overreactions. Long hours prepping for something that never hits.
Torres shakes his head. “Man, they always say that.”
“Doesn’t mean we don’t prepare,” Hayes snaps.
“Yes, sir.”
Hayes looks around the room, making sure he has all of us. “We mobilize at 0600. Gear up. Be ready for deployment.”
A chorus of “Yes, sir” follows.
He nods once, sharp and decisive, then turns and leaves as quickly as he came.
The door swings shut behind him.
The room exhales.
“Category five,” Carter mutters, leaning back in his chair. “That’d be a first.”
“It won’t hit,” Torres says confidently. “They never do.”
“Yeah,” someone else adds. “Watch it turn into a tropical storm overnight.”
A few chuckles. I don’t say anything. Because I’m thinking the same thing. It’s just another storm. Another drill. Another reason to stay busy.
And honestly?
That’s fine with me. Because the busier I am—The less I think about her. I push off the bunk, grabbing my gear bag from under the bed.
“Already packing?” Carter asks.
“Figured I’d get a head start.”
He smirks. “Or you just need something to do so you don’t sit there staring at the ceiling like a lovesick idiot.”
I shoot him a look. “Careful.”
He laughs. “Yeah, yeah.”
But I don’t argue. Because he’s not entirely wrong.
CHAPTER
