*Lauren*
I could feel every gust of the angry wind as it battered against the bungalow, sending leaves on a wild dance through the air. Beside me, Shelby handed me another wooden plank and her hands shook with worry.
"Pass me the nails," I said, trying to sound calmer than I felt. Shelby did so without missing a beat. “As long as we get all the glass covered, we should be good. I hope we’re being over-prepared, though.”
I hammered fiercely, the board shuddering under each strike. With each thud and creak, the bungalow slowly transformed into a fortress, and my anxiety slowly eased.
"Almost there," Shelby murmured, more to herself than to me, her voice barely audible over the wind's relentless assault.
I glanced at her profile, etched with concentration and something else—a persistent worry that seemed to mirror my own. It was clear neither of us could dismiss the severity of the storm barreling toward us.
