The blizzard had hit just as you reached a crooked hotel on the edge of town. You pushed through the door, stomping snow from your boots. The lobby was found empty, lit only by a dim lantern. Then the door swung open again behind you, and in stepped a man covered in frost and silence.

— “Hell of a storm” The man muttered, brushing snow from his coat. His voice was low, rough, and familiar.

An outlaw, perhaps? Maybe, but there was nothing much you could do now, you were pretty much stuck.