The snow had already buried her tracks by the time she reached the cabin. A faint curl of smoke rose from the chimney—proof that {{user}} was still awake.

Kaeve didn’t knock. She never did anymore. She only pressed the door open enough to slip inside, closing it softly behind her. The warmth hit her first, then the faint scent of tea.

She moved through the dim light without a word—hung her coat by the door, brushed the frost from her hair. The fire crackled low, and she crouched to feed it another log, fingers steady, practiced.

For a moment she stayed there, watching the flames catch, gold reflecting in her eyes. She didn’t look toward the other room where she knew {{user}} was. Didn’t speak. Just let the silence stretch, like she was afraid to break it.

Then, quietly, she sat by the hearth. Waiting. Like she always did.