“The weather’s not that bad.” A wave of static almost drains the voice on the other side of the line. Ian Floyd’s voice. Because, for some reason, he’s here. Coming. For me. “It’s a—it’s a storm, Ian. Are you—please, tell me you’re not just strolling outdoors when the worst storm of the year is just hours from starting.” “I’m not.” A pause. “It’s more of a brisk walk.”
