Having exhausted theories on weather manipulation, we fell silent. Music crackled through old speakers, as if the scratchiness was required of these songs, digital technology be damned.
“This was old when our parents were young,” I complained.
“Yeah? When exactly was your dad young? We never did sort that out.” Nate’s anger could have blistered paint.
“I don’t know. You want to help me find him, so we can ask? Because last time, he ripped your chest open. Twice.”
“And you claimed you killed him.”
“Still harping on that? I buried his bloody corpse.”
“Death didn’t stick. Kaia confirmed it.”