The storm arrived not from the sea, but from the south—a late-season atmospheric river that slammed into the coast with biblical fury. For three days, the world dissolved into a roaring, grey chaos. Rain lashed the windows of Driftwood House in horizontal sheets. The wind screamed like a thing in pain, and the ocean, invisible beyond the wall of weather, announced itself as a constant, ground-shaking boom against the cliffs.They were prepared. The generator hummed in its shed. The pantry was stocked. It was cozy, in a fierce, elemental way. Leo, fascinated, kept a "storm log," drawing pictures of imagined waves taller than houses. Liam constantly checked the gutters and the studio site, which was now a muddy lake but, thanks to the poured foundation, a structurally sound one.On the fourth morning, the rain lessened to a steady, stubborn drizzle. The wind dropped to a sigh. The world emerged, washed clean and bruised. Trees were down on the road into town, and the power was out acros
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