Not empty. Just quieter. People keep checking their phones, looking out the windows like they’re expecting something to change if they stare long enough, like everyone feels it coming.
Outside, the sky has that heavy, low-hanging gray that presses down on everything, the kind that swallows light instead of reflecting it. Snow falls thick and steady, the wind starting to push it sideways now, streaking across the glass in restless patterns that make it hard to focus on anything else for too long.
I’m wiping down the bar when the front door opens, letting in a rush of icy air as Cas steps inside, snow clinging to his shoulders and hair, his expression tight, eyes scanning the room before landing on Dex.
“Hey,” he says, but there’s something off in it, quieter than usual, edged with concern.
That alone makes the room shift.
Dex straightens immediately from where he’s leaning against the counter, something in his posture sharpening. “What’s going on?”
Cas brushes snow off his shoulders as he steps further inside, boots leaving wet, melting prints across the floor. “They’re closing the highway.”
Stephen freezes halfway across the room. “What?”
“Both directions,” Cas says. “Plows can’t keep up. Wind’s picking up and visibility’s getting worse outside town.”
A gust rattles the windows as if to prove his point, the glass trembling faintly in its frame.
Dex moves toward them, his attention fixed on the storm like he can read it, like he can measure just how bad it’s about to get.
“How long?”
“No idea,” Cas says. “School’s already canceled for tomorrow. Town council wants businesses shut down early. Sheriff’s office is telling people to get home and stay there.”
The bar goes quieter, conversations fading into low murmurs that don’t quite hide the tension settling in.
“For how long?” Stephen asks.
Cas shakes his head. “No one knows yet.”
Something tightens in my chest at that, a slow, creeping pressure that has nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with what it means.
Dex runs a hand over the back of his neck once, then looks around the room, making a decision before anyone else can.
“We close.”
No hesitation.
Stephen nods immediately. “I’ll start shutting things down.”
Cas gives a short nod. “Good call. Road up toward the ranch is already drifting. Tell people to head out sooner rather than later.”
“I will.”
Cas heads back out into the storm, the door closing behind him, the wind howling faintly even after it shuts, like it’s trying to get back in.
For the next twenty minutes, the bar empties faster than I’ve ever seen it.
People finish drinks, pull on coats, throw down cash like they don’t want to linger long enough to get stuck, voices tighter, movements quicker, everyone suddenly aware of the time, of the weather, of the way the world outside is shifting into something less predictable.
Stephen grabs his jacket last. “You heading up?” he asks Dex.
“Yeah.”
Stephen looks at me. “You good getting home?”
“I live upstairs,” I say.
