Nighttime Lookout for Chloe Price

Night rolled over Arcadia Bay fast, so I ducked behind the shed away from the wind. Right against the peeling wooden fence sat an overturned fruit crate, weathered gray and reeking of damp cedar. Perfect lookout post. I tucked that neon green guitar pick securely into my waistband, gripped the rough cedar slats with both hands, and hoisted myself up onto the top board. Up here, under the faint amber glow spilling from the neighbor's porch light, the shadows look decent. I kicked my boots against the wood with a dull thud, leaned back against a knotty fence post, and took in the dark yard. Total silence, zero curfew.