The storm does not move.
That is the first sign that this is not weather.
Storms shift.
They travel.
They dissipate.
This one rotates in perfect stillness above the western ocean, lightning folding inward instead of striking outward.
The satellites show no wind patterns.
No pressure systems.
No heat gradients.
Just geometry.
And geometry does not belong to weather.
Morgan stands in the war room staring at the rotating image like she is looking at a wound that will not close.
Her hands are steady on the console, but her breathing is shallow.
"It is not divine."
"No," I say quietly.
I stand beside her, hand resting over my stomach.
The baby shifts faintly beneath my ribs.
Not in fear.
Not in distress.
Recognition.
"It is reacting to divine."
Kade's jaw tightens.
He stan
