Chasing the storm

Chapter 30: The Weight We Carry

(Rowan's POV)

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The motel walls creaked against the wind, the storm slamming outside like it was trying to tear the place apart.

Inside?

It was just as tense.

I sat near Sienna, but my mind was still spinning.

About the storm.

About the fact that we had no real supplies.

About her.

She was trying to act fine.

Trying to pretend that she wasn't exhausted, that her leg wasn't still hurting, that she wasn't holding everything together like she always did.

I should've said something.

But I didn't.

Because Oliver and Ava were still arguing.

---

Ava's voice was sharp. "You never say what you actually feel, Oliver."

Oliver let out a rough breath, rubbing his face. "Not now."

Ava scoffed. "Right. Because you only ever talk when it's convenient for you."

I raised an eyebrow. Oh.

So this wasn't just tension.

It was history.

Oliver's shoulders were tight, his fingers clenching at his sides. "Drop it, Ava."

She didn't. "You left, Oliver."

His jaw locked. "And you told me to."

The room was silent.

Sienna's eyes flickered between them, her brows furrowed.

Even Caleb looked uncomfortable.

This wasn't just an argument.

This was a wound that never healed.

And it was about to bleed all over the place.

---

I stood up. "Enough."

They both turned to look at me, mid-stare-down.

I crossed my arms. "I don't know what history you two have, but if you want to fight about it, wait until we're not actively trying to survive a goddamn apocalypse."

Ava muttered something under her breath and stormed off toward the back rooms.

Oliver ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "She's impossible."

I snorted. "So are you."

He shot me a look. "Oh, shut up."

I smirked but didn't argue.

Because honestly?

I wasn't sure which one of them was more stubborn.

---

I sat back down near Sienna, stretching my legs out in front of me.

She didn't say anything at first, just watching me.

Then—"You really don't like sitting still, do you?"

I let out a dry chuckle. "Not when there's a hurricane outside and no one's got a real plan."

She exhaled. "You think there is a plan?"

I glanced at her, my gaze sharp. "If we don't make one, we're dead."

She didn't flinch.

Didn't argue.

Because we both knew it was true.

---

Another howl of wind rattled the motel.

Mia shivered in the corner, pulling her jacket tighter.

Caleb was staring at the boarded-up window, his expression tight. "That doesn't sound normal."

He wasn't wrong.

The wind was sharper now.

Not just loud—angry.

The walls groaned.

Dust rained down from the ceiling.

I clenched my jaw, staring toward the front door.

This place won't hold forever.

We all knew it.

And we were running out of time.

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