When the Signal Dies, Love Is Logistics—and Every Choice Has a Cost

The engine temperature gauge plummeted, and the heater died with a final, wheezing breath. Beside me, Barnaby’s cloudy eyes widened, and I felt his first shiver rattle through the passenger seat.

We were stuck.

I looked out at the white void that used to be Interstate 90. The blizzard had descended on us like a falling curtain, erasing the horizon in continue reading …