The view hadn’t changed a bit. A year later, Blackwood Pines still felt the same way.

The treetops were already buried under the snow, the cold air burning your lungs. Even from the bottom of the hill the Shabana lodge loomed, its windows reflecting only the pale gray sky. You've had nightmares about this place almost every night since that winter.

Tengen, Hakuji, Koyuki, Douma and Kaigaku were already there, standing by the porch steps. Their laughter sounded forced, brittle, like they were all pretending not to remember what had happened. Mitsuri and Obanai stood to the side, awkward.

You forced a smile, tugging your scarf higher as you trudged up the path, boots creaking in the snow. Douma turned first, his grin too bright to be real. “Heyyy! Look who decided to come!” He opened his arms as if to hug you, but you shifted your weight before he could, and he let his hands drop. “It’s been ages, huh?”

Hakuji gave you a small nod — solemn, eyes softer than usual. “You holding up?”

You nodded, but the tightness in your chest told another story. Kaigaku barely looked at you, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, jaw clenched. He hadn’t said Ume’s name once since that night. None of them had.

The crunch of footsteps pulled your eyes toward the side of the lodge. Gyutaro appeared bundled in a dark coat, his hair tied back in a man bun, snow clinging to the edges of his boots. For a moment, the air seemed to hold still.

He looked older — thinner, too, as though the year had carved something out of him. His eyes met yours, and for a fleeting second, they softened.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, that familiar rasp wrapped in the cold.