“We should—we have to tell them.”
“Come on. I’ll show you where everyone is.” He grasps my hand, fingers slotting in mine. When he moves his thumb over the inside of my wrist, I let myself imagine a life like this every summer with him. Tracking hurricanes. Long days, warm nights. Absolute perfection with someone who’s become my favorite person in the world. “Do you want something to drink?”
“No. I’m fine.”
It’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told.
I’m nowhere near fine. How can I be when a single questionhas haunted me since I noticed the deviation in Hurricane Georgianna’s path?
What if we’re wrong and fuck everything up?
A thousand forecast models could be run, but there’s no way to truly know what weather is going to do next. It’s uncontrollable. A force so much bigger than the human mind can comprehend, but Iknowwhat I saw, the certainty in my soul.
I’ve spent years studying hurricanes. Learning how they move, how they interact with other systems that affect their path. They’re a part of me, written in my blood like they belong in my DNA, and this storm isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen before.
That’s what terrifies me the most.
I know my feet are moving. I know I’m following Sebastian, but I’m in a daze. A door opens. There’s a hand on the small of my back, swift and steady. An encouraging nudge that propels me into a room full of people, and I snap out of my trance when someone clears their throat. Blinking back to reality is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but all of this is so much bigger than me.
Every second we spend standing here is a second wasted, and we’re already racing against borrowed time.
Inhale confidence, exhale doubt.
I can do this.
“Listen up, y’all. This is Quincy Monroe,” Sebastian says. “Her PhD is in atmospheric science, and she finished top of her class at UCF.” His eyes bounce over to me, a secret smile tossed my way. “She has something she needs to share with us.”
“Hi.” I give the group an awkward wave. “I’m sorry for interrupting you, but there’s something you need to see.” I gesture to the open laptop at the head of the table. “May I?”
“Please,” one of the men says.
“I know you all have been meticulously tracking Georgianna’s path. I have too, and I noticed something unusual this morning.”I stride to the computer and pull up the NHC’s homepage. The image of the hurricane is in the middle, a small marker off the coast of Florida indicating her position. “Georgianna is turning.”
“Later today,” someone says. “That’s anticipated.”
“No. The storm is turning right now,” I answer.
“Hurricane hunters just went in, and that’s not what the advisory says.”
“Look at the satellite.” I type in a web address, displaying a new image on the large screen. “Look at the longitude. It changed. The last four advisories, it’s been the same. There’s deviation now. The system in the Gulf is turning it earlier than projected, which results in the storm not going as north as we thought.”
Silence answers me as ten men gape at the screen. I clasp my hands together, waiting for everyone else to catch up.
“Hang on.” A guy in a tailored suit leans forward, the first to speak. His eyes narrow in my direction, and I brace myself for what might be coming next. “I want to make sure I’m understanding this correctly.”
“Was there a question?” I ask.
“Your name is Quincy?”
“Monroe, yes.”
“Are you a scientist, Ms. Monroe?”
“I have a bachelor’s degree in meteorology and, like Sebastian mentioned, a PhD in atmospheric science. So, yes. I am.”
“Do you work for NOAA?”
“I run a weather page,” I explain, not bothering to go into detail.
