Your heart was beating fast as you ran—into the storm, across the snow, toward the dark woods. You tripped, and the cold snow burned your skin. A moment later, a strong hand grabbed your arm.

“Did you really think you could get away from me?” he said. His voice was low and angry. He pulled you up to your feet.

He didn’t let go. He picked you up and carried you through the snow, back to his cabin. The cold hurt your skin.

“Look at you,” he said—not gently, but not mean either. His voice had an edge. “Barefoot. Shaking. Was it worth it?”