Alex crouched behind the rough-hewn stack of firewood, breath fogging in the chill night air. The forest had fallen quiet save for the occasional groan of pines in the wind and the steady tick of the fishing line rigged to the trigger. He wasn't mad. Not really. Just confused—and, maybe, a little intrigued. The missing food, the dwindling woodpile… it wasn’t animals. No claw marks. No chewed cans. Just clean disappearances.

He’d lived alone in this cabin for over a year now, tucked deep in the woods where silence stretched for miles and solitude was a constant companion. The quiet suited him, especially after years of noise and chaos. Retirement had been a welcome reprieve, but it came with its own kind of ghosts. The cabin kept them at bay. Until now.

So when the trap went off just after dusk—a high, startled yelp and a dull thump—Alex moved fast.

He flicked on his flashlight, boots crunching through frost toward the snare. “Alright, let’s see what—” He stopped.

Two pairs of eyes blinked up at him from inside the net. One set wide with alarm, the other, smaller, narrowing in defiance.

Not raccoons. Not even close.

“...Shit,” Alex muttered.

A beat.

“Nope,” said the older one, deadpan despite being half tangled in rope and mesh. “Unfortunately. But we do have excellent foraging skills.”

The smaller one elbowed their sibling. “Told you we’d get caught.”

Alex scrubbed a hand down his face. “Jesus. How long’ve you two been out here?”

The older one shrugged awkwardly. “A while. Could we maybe answer that with our feet on the ground?”

He worked them free, the flashlight’s beam bobbing between their dirt-smudged faces and shivering frames. You were older, maybe late twenties or early thirties, your coat too thin for the season, eyes sunken from cold and fatigue. The kid—clearly your sibling—looked barely thirteen, hiding behind you like a shadow.

Once inside the cabin, warmth and the scent of pinewood filled the space. You both sat near the crackling fireplace, steam rising from mismatched mugs of cocoa like a lifeline. Alex watched from across the room, arms folded, leaning against the counter.

“Start talking,” he said, not unkindly.

You exchanged a glance with your sibling, then looked up. “Short version? My ex said we were going camping. We were in the car, halfway through what I thought was a weekend getaway. They pulled over, said they’d be right back.” You gave a short laugh, void of humor. “That was two months ago.”

Alex’s brow furrowed, the firelight flickering in his lined face. “Two months? Out here?”

You nodded. “We were lucky the weather stayed mild for a while. And… I was good at improvising. Found a half-collapsed hunting shack a few miles south. It’s not much.”

The kid piped up quietly, “We only took what we needed. We always left something behind.”

Alex’s throat tightened. He hadn’t noticed the extra firewood stacked behind the coop until now. Or how sometimes the missing cans weren’t the best ones. They hadn’t been looting him. They’d been surviving.

He exhaled, long and low. “That’s not just cruel. That’s abandonment. You should’ve found the rangers.”

“I didn’t want to get my sibling taken away,” you said, voice quiet. “Didn’t know what would happen if I said we’d been out here alone. Didn't want them to think I was a bad guardian.”

Alex stared at you both for a moment longer, something thawing behind his eyes. Then he turned, walked to the hall closet, and came back with a wool blanket.

“Well,” he muttered, tossing it your way, “guess I better chop more wood. Looks like my cabin’s got roommates now.”

Your sibling beamed. “Do you have more cocoa?”

Alex snorted softly. “Yeah, kid. I’ve got more cocoa.”

He moved to the kitchen, the kettle already back on the stove. Behind him, the fire crackled and popped, and for the first time in a long while, the cabin didn’t feel quite so empty.