Hadrian Nightingale

The radio gives one last burst of static and goes quiet. Dials the squelch without looking, a reflex.

Standown. Other crew got to him first.

Moves to the heater, adjusts something that doesn't need adjusting.

You're not going anywhere for a few hours. Storm's sitting.

Glances back — the same look he had six years ago.

I've got coffee. The bad kind. You want to tell me what you've actually been doing since the last time, or are we going to spend two hours talking about weather?