The wind howls through the phone, loud enough to make me flinch.
“Dad…” My voice wavers before I can stop it. “Are you sure you should be driving in this?”
“We’re fine,” he says quickly. Too quickly. “I’ve driven in worse.”
I don’t believe that for a second. But I also know better than to argue with him when he sounds like this.
“I’ll be here,” I say instead.
“Good.” His voice softens just slightly. “I’ll call you if anything changes.”
“Okay.”
“And Willow?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t open the door for anyone but me.”
A chill slides down my spine.
“Okay,” I repeat, quieter this time.
The line clicks dead. I stare at my phone for a second longer before lowering it slowly into my lap. The house feels even quieter now.
But the storm? It doesn’t. The rain is louder. I stand, moving toward the window despite what he said, drawn by something I can’t explain. The sky is dark. Not just night-dark. Storm-dark. The kind that swallows everything, that makes the world feel smaller, tighter, like there’s nowhere to go. The trees outside bend under the wind, their branches thrashing violently, leaves tearing free and disappearing into the chaos. A sudden gust slams against the house, rattling the windows hard enough to make me step back.
“Okay,” I whisper to myself. “Okay, okay.”
This is real. This isn’t one of those storms that passes by. This isn’t something that just looks scary on the news. This is here.
Right now.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to steady the sudden rush of fear clawing up my chest. Dad said to stay put. So I stay. I double-check the locks, even though I already know they’re secure.
Front door. Back door. Windows. All locked. All sealed. I grab a flashlight from the kitchen drawer, setting it on thecounter like that somehow makes me more prepared. Another gust hits the house, stronger this time.
The lights flicker. My breath catches.
“Don’t,” I whisper, staring up at the ceiling like I can will them to stay on.
They hold—for now. I exhale slowly, my heart pounding harder than it should.
It’s fine. He’s coming. An hour. That’s all. I can handle an hour. I move back into the living room, pulling the curtains closed this time, blocking out the view of the storm. It doesn’t stop the sound, but it helps.
I sink back onto the couch, tucking my legs under me, phone clutched tightly in my hand. The rain pounds harder. The wind screams louder. The house creaks around me like it’s feeling every hit.
And all I can do is wait. Wait for the headlights in the driveway. Wait for the door to open. Wait for my dad to walk in and tell me everything’s going to be okay.
An hour passes. Then two. The power goes out first.
Not all at once. It flickers—once, twice—like the house is trying to hold on. Then everything goes black. I sit there on the couch, frozen, my phone clutched in my hand even though I already know it’s useless. No signal. No internet. No way to call him. No way to know where he is.
“Dad…” I whisper into the dark.
The storm answers for him. The wind screams against the walls, rattling the windows so hard I swear they’re going to shatter. Rain pounds relentlessly, louder than anything I’veever heard, like the sky has opened up and decided to drown everything beneath it.
I force myself to move.
