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The radio tower on Kessler Island had been broadcasting for forty-one years when the floodwaters finally reached the generator room door. Maya Ostroff noticed the seepage at 6:47 in the morning, right between the weather segment and the local obituaries. …
Read more →The studio smelled like burnt coffee and deadline panic, which Maya had long since decided was the natural scent of truth. She sat at the anchor desk at 11:47 PM, thirteen minutes before the broadcast, reviewing the rundown her producer …
Read more →The ship had no name when Mara found it. It sat half-buried in the tidal mud of Creswick Bay, listing to one side like a man who'd had too much wine at a festival and couldn't quite commit to falling …
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