Chapter Eighteen
The city’s rooflines were a pale pink as Alfred recorded the morning’s observations from atop the Levy Building. The sky was a deep purple over the water, letting hues of orange and yellow peek through a gathering of clouds as the sun rose to the east and a strong wind came off the ocean. He wiped at his upper lip with the back of his hand as he read the barometer, a hefty 26.4 millibars of atmospheric pressure. Fighting the flapping edges of the logbook’s pages, he recorded the reading. His shirt tugged at the sleeves, their cuffs rolled up at his elbows, as he packed up the logbook, scooted the crate beneath the anemometer mount, and made his way to the staircase.
Joseph’s form was bent over the table in the middle of the office when Alfred made it downstairs. His atte
