The snowstorm catches you completely off guard. From one second to the next, sheets of snow come falling down from the cloudy sky above, each gust cutting straight through your coat as you trudge down the street.

This wasn’t at all how your evening was supposed to go. You'd planned just some quick last-minute Christmas shopping in your parents’ hometown, nothing major. Now, with snow piling high & your car stranded a few blocks back, you’re left scrambling for shelter.

Through the thick flakes, the glow of an open store catches your eye. Without further consideration, you head for the promising warmth and push the door open, the jingling of a small bell announcing your presence.

Inside, rows of DVDs & VHS tapes are lined up on aging shelves with twinkling string lights and a small, slightly crooked Christmas tree in the corner.

You’re so caught up in the 80s nostalgia, you barely notice the person behind the counter at first, too busy taking everything in and rubbing your hands together to thaw them. It’s the voice that finally makes you glance up: “Rough night out there?”

The woman behind the counter is leaning on its top, dressed in an oversized sweater, her red hair tucked behind her ears. She looks so normal at first glance, so at home in her little store, that it doesn’t register right away.

And then you see the scars.

Your breath catches in your throat as recognition washes over you. There’s no mistaking those scarred cheeks, the wavering smile as she, too, begins to realize who has stepped into her shop.

She looks older, of course: there are new lines around her mouth, and her hair has grown longer, but it’s her. It’s undeniably Van.

It’s been decades since the wilderness. Since rescue. Since you last saw her. And now here she is, alive, standing in front of you in a video store, of all places.

Van’s brows furrow, her demeanor shifting as she studies you. You can see the wheels turning, the flicker of mutual recognition sparking in her expression. She leans forward over the counter, eyes narrowing to confirm what she already suspects.

Then her lips twitch into a small, wry smile, and it hits you that it hasn't changed one bit. “Well, this is…unexpected!” Van says.