The air in Silver Creek tasted wrong. It wasn't a smell or a sound, but a feeling, a constant, low-level vibration that set teeth on edge and made the hairs on the back of the neck stand up. For the adults, it was a pervasive sense of dread, a knowledge of the cataclysmic events unfolding across the ocean. For Luna, it was something else entirely. It was a scream in a frequency only she could hear.
She sat in the sunroom, trying to color. The news was on in the background, muted, but the images of the frozen, nightmare cities in Europe flashed relentlessly. Her nanny, Maria, was trying to act normal, humming a soft tune while folding laundry, but her hands were shaking.
