- ARIA
The sky didn't just turn gray; it bruised.
By the time I started the trek down from the family grove, the first heavy drops were punching through the canopy, smelling of wet slate and old pine. My hair was already beginning to frizz, clinging to the back of my neck.
When I reached the bottom of the trail, Brandon was standing by the porch, squinting at the horizon. The mountains were being swallowed by a thick, misty curtain.
"Hey," he called out, his voice competing with the sudden rhythmic drumming on the roof. "The weather's turning fast. Radar says this isn't a drizzle; it’s a wash-out."
I wiped a stray drop from my eyelash. "We should probably hit the road before the mountain passes get slick. I know these roads—they turn into mud slides the second the drainage
