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I hate that it isn’t live. That I don’t get more information.

There’s always this gap between where the last dot says they were and wherever the plane is now, and my brain keeps trying to fill in the missing space with every terrible possibility it can come up with.

“This thing couldn’t just show me the actual plane moving? Maybe get a livestream inside the cabin?”

Trace glances over at me and the corner of his mouth quirks up. “Unfortunately, no.”

I make a face and tuck the pillow tighter against my side. “That would be so much less stressful. Someone should get on that.”

He huffs out a laugh. “You should @ them on social media and suggest it.”

“You know what? I will,” I say, pulling out my phone and opening the app.

But I’m distracted when another point pops up, creeping closer to the storm.

Whatever conversation was happening around me disappears as I lean toward the screen.

Tatum comes out of the kitchen carrying a bowl of queso with a bag of tortilla chips tucked under her arm.

“Move your shit,” she tells Trace, nudging the edge of the coffee table with her knee.

He lifts his backpack out of the way, and she sets the bowl down in front of me.

I grab the bag and dig out a chip without taking my eyes off the laptop, scoop up enough queso that it starts dripping off the edge, and shove the whole thing into my mouth.

Scout hooks her fingers around the bowl and tries to slide it closer.

“Hey.” I slap at her hand. “You have popcorn.”

“That’s a ton of cheese dip, G. No way are you going to eat it all.”

“Watch me.”

She rolls her eyes and steals a chip anyway.

Ellie shifts under her blanket and looks over at Trace. “Can you tell when they actually get into it?”

“Yeah.” He keeps his eyes on the laptop. “Once they start making the first pass, we’ll be able to follow it.”

Scout stops mid-chew, and I lean forward as much as I can with my stomach in the way.

Sumner’s flown enough storms since we’ve been together that I know the basics by now. They fly through the center, the eye is usually the calm part, and the eyewall is where things get ugly.

I really wish he’d left that last detail out when he was explaining what it’s like in there.

Another point pops up on the screen.

Trace sits forward in the chair, one hand moving to the trackpad.

“What?”

“They’re turning in.”

I look from his face to the map. “For the first pass?”

“Yeah.”

Andie comes back around the coffee table and drops onto the couch beside me.