I check the weather console. A crust of frozen pixels still smears across the lower half of the second digit where Moose smacked it earlier, but it seems to read -28°C outside. It should be dark by now, yet the snow clouds have swallowed the night and turned it into a pale fog of blue and grey. When I return my gaze, Viv is watching me with a bemused smile. “You know whiteouts can generate infrasound?” she says, clearly r...