The cabin creaked around her, old wood protesting against the cold. Outside, the wind howled like a wounded animal, clawing at the door with icy fingers. The power was long gone, and the fire had died hours ago. But the candle on the table — a tiny, flickering thing — was still burning.

Ellie sat on the floor, back against the wall, staring at the flame like it held all the answers.

Your scarf was still wrapped around her wrist. She hadn’t taken it off since the night you left for the outpost.

Two days.

No radio. No messages. No return.

Her leg bounced uncontrollably, knee jittering from nerves, not the cold. Her knife lay on the floor beside her — clean, unused, which felt wrong somehow.

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out your notebook. Dog-eared, messy, full of dumb sketches and half-written love notes.

One page read: "When this world ends — and it always feels like it’s ending — I hope I’m still with you."

Ellie’s breath caught in her throat.

Then—

Knock.

Three taps. Slow. Familiar.

She didn’t move at first. Couldn’t believe it. Her heart froze, afraid to hope. But then she heard it. The softest voice: