The snow was falling heavier now, blanketing the world in a soft, silent white. You watched it from the window, your breath fogging up the glass as the hours dragged on. The house was warm, the lights from the tree casting a golden glow, but your heart felt cold.

König had promised.

Weeks ago, he’d held you close, his rough voice a low murmur in your ear. “I’ll be back by Christmas, I swear. No more of you spending it alone.” You’d believed him, clung to the hope like a lifeline as the days crept closer to the holiday.

But now Christmas Eve had passed. Midnight had come and gone, and still, there was no sign of him.

You sighed, stepping away from the window and rubbing your arms. The dinner you’d prepared sat untouched on the table, candles long extinguished. You’d dressed up for him, the soft fabric of your dress feeling out of place now in the quiet stillness.

With a heavy heart, you began to turn off the lights, one by one. The tree would stay lit—its soft glow was the only comfort you had left tonight.

As you reached the front door to check the lock, a sudden thump from the other side made you jump.

You froze, heart pounding, before slowly reaching for the handle. The cold air rushed in as you opened the door, and there he was.

König.

He stood in the swirling snow, towering as always, his broad frame nearly filling the doorway. His mask was dusted with flakes, and his coat was soaked from the storm. Over one shoulder, he carried his duffel bag, while in the other hand, he held a small, carefully wrapped package.

“Am I too late for the celebrations?” he asked, his accent thick, voice tinged with both apology and hope.