THREE
WILLOW
The rain starts as a whisper.Soft. Steady. Almost calming. I’m curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over my legs, a half-finished show playing on the TV that I’m not really watching. The house feels too big tonight. Too quiet.
It’s been like that a lot lately. Ever since?—
I press my lips together and force the thought away before it can fully form. Instead, I focus on the sound of the rain tapping against the windows. It gets a little louder with every passing minute, a little heavier, like something building.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, making me jump. I reach for it, heart already picking up speed when I see his name.
Dad.
I answer immediately. “Hey?—”
“Willow.”
His voice cuts through me.
Sharp. Urgent. All the calm from a second ago evaporates instantly.
“What’s wrong?”
“I need you to listen to me,” he says, and there’s no hesitation, no softness—just pure command. “There’s a hurricane coming in faster than they expected.”
I sit up straighter, the blanket slipping off my legs. “What? I thought it was still—like—two days out.”
“It was,” he says. I can hear wind on his end, loud enough that he has to raise his voice. “It sped up. A lot. They’re saying it could hit tonight.”
Tonight.
My stomach drops.
I glance toward the window. The rain is already coming down harder now, streaking against the glass in uneven sheets.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says, clipped. “But it’s happening. I’m about an hour out. I’ve got your sister with me. We’re coming to get you.”
My chest tightens. “Okay. Okay—should I start packing? Or?—”
“No.”
The word is immediate. Firm.
“You stay where you are,” he continues. “Do you understand me?”
I swallow. “Yeah.”
“Doors locked?”
“Yes.”
“Windows?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” There’s a pause, like he’s checking something on his end. “Stay inside. Stay away from the windows. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
