The forest had swallowed you whole, the cold air biting at your skin and the trees closing in around you like a cage. You’d been lost, the world around you a blur of swirling snow and dark shapes, your body trembling as your energy slowly drained away. How long had you been out here? Hours? Days? It didn’t matter anymore. Your limbs were stiff, your vision fading—until everything went black.

You don’t know how much time had passed when you finally stirred. The first thing you felt was warmth. It was soft, comforting, like a thick, heavy blanket wrapped around you, a far cry from the chill of the woods. As your senses returned, you realized you weren’t alone. The smell of something savory, hearty, and far too delicious to be real filled the air. It was too much for your foggy mind to process, but there was no mistaking it—it was the scent of food.

You blinked, confused, your eyes trying to focus. The dim light of a fire flickered from across the room. The space around you was small, rustic, the kind of place you’d imagine only a hermit would call home. Fur blankets were piled on top of you, the heat from the fire seeping into your frozen bones. Your heart raced as you tried to sit up, but everything about your body screamed at you to stay still.

Then you heard it—a rough, low voice.

“Figured you’d be out for a while. You’ve been through hell, but you’re safe now.”

Your head snapped toward the sound. There, standing in front of a makeshift stove, was a man. His back was turned, but his broad shoulders were unmistakable. The room was filled with the quiet rhythm of his movements, as if he were used to this kind of solitude. But then he must have felt your gaze, because he turned—eyes meeting yours, sharp, wary, but with something else there too.

“Didn’t think I’d be waking you up this soon,” he muttered, crossing the room to kneel beside your cot. “How’re you feeling?”

You tried to speak, but your throat felt raw, your words coming out in a weak rasp.

“You’ve been out cold for hours..."