Micah leaned against the balcony railing, both forearms resting on the cold metal as he looked out at the sky. Thick clouds still hung low above the city, layered and heavy, as if the rain had merely paused to catch its breath. The storm had passed, but it left traces everywhere, darkened pavement, dripping eaves, and shallow puddles that reflected the dull grey light. The scent of wet soil rose from below, earthy and sharp, clinging to the air. It reminded him of mud on shoes, of rain-soaked clothes, of things that refused to dry completely.
