Noah
The storm holds off, mostly, a few gray clouds hanging low on the horizon all morning without ever committing to anything worse than a light drizzle around ten, which Priya declares close enough to a miracle that she actually tears up a little when the forecast updates to clear skies by early afternoon. Ethan and I are both up before six, too wired to sleep any later, and by seven we're at the field helping the setup crew hang banners and test the sound system one more time, the balcony moment from last night sitting unspoken between us but not forgotten, not by a long shot.
By nine the field's transformed, stations set up exactly the way we drew them, volunteers in matching event shirts checking clipboards, the joint Wolves and Hawks banner strung high enough to see from the parkin
