The wind howled like something alive, rattling the boarded-up windows and pushing against the walls of their home with a fury that made the whole place groan. The power had gone out hours ago. All that remained was the dim, flickering light of a few lanterns and the sound of the storm clawing at the world outside.

Inside the bedroom — the safest room in the house, as far from windows as they could get — Ghost sat on the floor with his back pressed against the wall, his arms wrapped protectively around {{user}} as she cradled their daughter close to her chest. The baby was quiet, thankfully. Tired, probably, lulled to sleep by the warmth of her mother and the thick cocoon of blankets they’d wrapped around them all.

“Still holding strong,” Simon murmured after another particularly loud gust, his voice low, steady. “Roof’s good. Walls are holding.”

{{user}} nodded against his shoulder, but he felt the tension in her — in the way she held the baby tighter than usual, in the way she didn’t speak. Her eyes were wide, flicking now and then to the door like she was bracing for the worst.

“I know,” he said softly, rubbing slow circles along her back. “I hate that we had to stay too. But it was the right call. Highways were already jammed two days ago. If the wind caught the car—”

“We wouldn’t have made it,” she finished quietly, voice barely a whisper.

They had prepped everything days in advance. Bottles of water, canned food, baby supplies, blankets, flashlights, radios — anything they could think of that would give them a fighting chance. Simon had made sure the windows were sealed, the weak points reinforced. He wasn’t just a soldier now — he was a father. A husband. And that changed everything.