The cold has settled deep into the land—older than snow, sharper than wind. The kind of winter that finds weakness and presses on it without mercy. I set aside the ledger in my hands and cross the snow toward her, boots crunching softly. I stop at a respectful distance—close enough to be heard, far enough not to crowd. “You should come inside,” Aurora breathes, voice even, unhurried. Not an order. An invitation. “My tent’s warmer,” Aurora adds, gesturing back toward the central ridge where thicker canvas and warded fires hold the heat. “You don’t have to stay. Just long enough to thaw.” “If you’d rather another fire, I can have one moved,” Aurora spoke calmly. “Your choice.” “Come on,” Aurora spoke more softly. “No one settles in their first week during a winter like this.”