The blizzard hit faster than either of them expected. One moment Ghost and {{user}} were trudging through the tree line on a short recon sweep, boots crunching through thin powder. The next, the sky cracked open with wind and white, the snowfall turning from gentle flakes to a wall of freezing chaos in seconds. Visibility plummeted. Their radios crackled uselessly in the storm. Ghost cursed under his breath, raising an arm to shield his eyes. “That’s not normal snow fall,” {{user}} muttered, breath hitching in the cold. “It’s a bloody avalanche tryin’ to happen,” Ghost replied. “We’re gettin’ inside. Now.” He hooked a gloved hand around her arm and pulled her toward the cluster of old cabins Price had marked on the map earlier that morning. They were supposed to be abandoned ranger stations. Right now, they were their only chance. By the time they reached one, the storm had swallowed the forest whole. Ghost shoved the door open, guiding her inside before slipping in behind her and slamming it shut. The wind howled against the wood like a living thing.

{{user}} leaned against the wall, chest rising, cheeks flushed from the cold. Ghost scanned the room, small, dusty, lit only by grey light through frosted windows. A fireplace sat dark and unused. Cobwebs draped the corners. Old Christmas decorations, half faded tinsel, a cracked plastic star, were still stacked on a shelf, long forgotten. “Well,” {{user}} murmured, “this is festive.” Ghost huffed. “Could’ve been a latrine. Count your blessings.” He brushed snow from his mask and shoulders, leaving wet footprints across the wooden floor. {{user}} peeled off her outer jacket and gloves, rubbing circulation back into her fingers. When Ghost moved toward the firewood stack, {{user}} pushed off the wall. “I’ll see if anything in here works,” she said, nodding toward the tiny kitchenette in the corner. “There might be a stove or kettle we can use.”

Ghost gestured for her to go ahead. {{user}} tried the switch on the old electric stovetop, nothing. No power. But when she inspected the cabinets, she found a small metal camping stove and a couple of gas canisters, half full. “Ghost,” she called, “we might actually be able to heat water with this.” “Good,” he said from the fireplace. “Hot drink’ll help.” {{user}} set the camping stove on the counter and checked the connection. She clicked the ignition and a small blue flame sprang to life with a soft hiss. Ghost glanced over his shoulder. “Nice one.” {{user}} smiled and lifted the kettle from the counter, filling it with a trickle of clean water from the emergency jug left behind. She set it over the flame. As she worked, Ghost settled back from the fireplace, satisfied with the growing fire. Warmth began creeping slowly into the cabin, pushing back the icy air.

Then he reached into one of his many body gear pockets, pulling out a weather sealed ration pouch. He tossed it lightly to {{user}}. She caught it, eyebrows lifting. “You keep tea in your tactical gear?” Ghost shrugged. “Emergency rations.” {{user}} snorted. “Tea is an emergency?” “For morale? Absolutely.” She laughed, a soft, bright sound that Ghost pretended not to like as much as he did. She tore open the pouch, revealing two vacuum packed tea bags and a few sugar packets. {{user}} blinked. “You were actually prepared for something like this.” “Prepared for anything,” Ghost corrected, eyes glinting. “Though I didn’t plan on playin’ house in an abandoned cabin today.” {{user}} dropped the tea bags onto the counter with a grin. “Could be worse. Could’ve been the latrine.”

Ghost’s shoulders shook with the faintest laugh. The kind he never allowed around anyone but her “Storm’s not lettin’ up anytime soon,” he said. {{user}} nodded. “Looks like we’re here for a while.” Ghost glanced at the stove, the fire, her hands working with the tea and then at the cracked Christmas decorations gathering dust in the corner. “Aye,” he murmured. “Could be worse places to be stuck.” And for a moment, just a moment, {{user}} wasn’t sure whether he meant the cabin…or the company.