Mike turned away from her to look through the lobby's expansive glass front. The street had undergone a violent transformation.
What had been a standard Monday evening thoroughfare was now a churning, dark river. The rain was falling with such a staggering density that the streetlights didn't just glow; they looked like blurred, golden orbs suspended deep underwater.
The world outside was gone, replaced by a rhythmic, drowning chaos.
"That settles the transit question," Mike said, his voice low.
He didn't need to say more. The city had effectively closed its gates.
Sabrina followed his gaze, staring at the deluge, then down at her own soaked clothes, and finally around the small, warm confines of the lobby. A single receptionist sat behind the desk, watching them with the practiced, polite disinterest of a professional who had seen much stranger things happen on much worse nights.
"This isn't..." Sabrina started, but the sentence died in her throat.
