Chapter 23: The Polar Vortex
The midday light over the bluffs of Blackwood Crest turned into a bruised, sickening purple, as if the upper atmosphere had been crushed by an unseen weight. Rowan stood on the reinforced third floor terrace of Alderwood Manor, watching the heavy cloud deck churn like oil over the gray ocean. The gentle sea breeze had vanished, replaced within minutes by a shrieking northern gale that rattled the heavy steel mounts along the balustrade.
Beside the doorway, the exterior digital probe registered the catastrophic drop in real time. The numbers scrolled downward without pausing to settle: forty degrees, thirty-two, twenty, and then twelve degrees Fahrenheit, shedding thirty degrees in less than two hours.
The moisture suspended in the air began to freeze before
