Maeve
“It’s coming toward us from the east.” Pete pointed to the radar screen, the green blotch inching toward the Persephone and then cutting backward as the image timed out. I couldn’t make sense of the screen, but I looked up at Troy, who was watching it with intensity, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“Where the hell did it come from?” he said to himself, leaning toward the screen.
“What is it?” I asked, looking around the engine room. It was a small room with a wide window overlooking the water. Keaton was leaning against the far wall, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Weather,” he said shortly, running his tongue along his lower lip.
“Unusual weather,” Pete replied, glancing at Keaton before looking back at the screen. “There are no surrounding storm patterns, it’s just… there.”
“Well,” Keaton kicked off the wall, clapping his hands together. “I’ll warn the crew—”
