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Chapter Seven

Kate emerged from the dense forest, her breaths heavy and labored. Down below, her quaint village of Clearwater Valley beckoned to her like a familiar embrace. But there was no returning home just yet. Her jeep was parked in the lot, a thin blanket of snow dusting its windshield, a reminder of the cold reality awaiting her. She longed for the warmth and comfort of home, but her journey was far from over. She took one last wistful look at the village before steeling herself and unlocking her jeep.

She slid behind the wheel, seatbelt clicking as she fired up the engine and turned on the windshield wipers. Thoughts of doubt crept up like weeds, but she cut them down with the sharp scythe of her resolve.

"Please, please melt soon," she huffed impatiently, eyes rolling. "I need a snowstorm like I need to hear Maria Carey on the radio one more time," she grumbled, referring to her overplayed Christmas song. The thought of both things filled her with equal amounts of dread and annoyance, but at least she could stop the song with the turn of a dial.

The jeep's heater was blasting warm air, but it did little to soothe the ice in her veins. The drive was a blur, traffic lights smearing together as she wove through the streets, each second an eternity because she knew that disaster loomed.

She pulled up to the IN-TV news station in downtown Bayview, the grey building's windows reflecting the evening sky now spotted with stars and falling snow. She dashed inside, her breath clouding in front of her as she approached the security guard.

"Ma'am, can I help you?" the guard asked, his expression curious beneath the brim of his cap.

"Kate Whyte, here to see the news director Nate Harrow? It's urgent," she stated, the words tumbling out like soldiers heading into battle.

"You've got an appointment?" he asked with a frown.

"No, I don't have a damn appointment, this is an island-wide emergency and it's time-sensitive news. I need to see him now!" She glared at him, arms crossed over her chest.

He looked her up and down for another second, then gave a curt nod. "Fourth floor. Don't tell anyone it was me who let you in."

"Thank you," she said, already halfway to the elevator. Her reflection stared back at her from the polished metal doors—a woman on a mission, armed with nothing but a prediction from a phone app and a fierce desire to save lives.

As the elevator dinged open, she stepped into the lion's den, ready to roar.

**

Kate's hiking boot heels clicked on the bustling news station's old linoleum floor. The sound bounced across the high ceiling, blending with the chatter and clacking keyboards of busy journalists.

Florescent lights flickered overhead, casting a clinical glow over clusters of cubicles where fingers danced over keyboards and eyes squinted at screens. The low hum of breaking stories filled the air, punctuated by phones ringing and printers churning out the latest updates. A ticker-tape marquee scrolled relentlessly along the wall, a silent harbinger of headlines that could shape the world or be forgotten by dinner.

"Focus," she whispered to herself, adjusting her grip on her laptop bag and the folder crammed with printouts, diagrams, and hastily scribbled notes.

She rounded the corner to confront the gatekeeper of what would air next, the news director. Nate Harrow's office was a fishbowl of glass walls adorned with awards and framed headlines, a testament to past glories and hard-won scoops. He looked up from his desk, his face etched with skepticism as he took in her breathless appearance.

"Mr. Harrow, I'm Kate Whyte. We have to talk about—" she began, only to be cut off by his raised hand, as if halting traffic.

"Ms. Whyte, I run a tight ship here. If you're selling something, the answer is 100 percent no." His voice was as smooth as the surface of his mahogany desk, but edged with steel.