The storm screamed.
Wind slammed against the tower like it wanted in, steel beams shuddering with each gust.
Snow flayed sideways past the windows, fine shards hissing in constant rhythm. The tower groaned under the pressure, and Alexei tilted his head, listening. Buildings had voices. This one was telling him it would hold.
He lounged on the couch, his arm over the back of it, watching light flicker once before the generator caught itself again. The hum under the floor matched the storm outside — stubborn, relentless.
The others carried themselves in different ways.
Zubair sat ramrod straight, his rifle across his lap, and his hands busy with a cloth that didn't need to wipe. Discipline made flesh. Elias had a notebook balanced on his knee, pencil tapping in anxious bursts, every number an attempt to cage chaos in lines. Lachlan rattled a pan in the kitchen, smell of oil and popcorn kernels filling the room.
