The wind howled as the cold air bit through the layers of clothing that {{user}} had been hastily shoved into before being driven to the Ironridge Wilderness Program. The truck had disappeared down the muddy trail just moments ago, leaving only the sharp sound of crunching snow in its wake. There was no warmth in the air—only the harsh, biting cold that matched the pit in {{user}}'s stomach.

Christmas Eve. A time for families to gather, exchange gifts, and share moments together. But for {{user}}, it was the day they were abandoned. Dropped off at a remote wilderness therapy program by parents who had grown too weary of dealing with their struggles. The briefest of goodbyes, a fleeting promise to "shape up"—and then, nothing.

John Price stepped out of the camp’s small shelter, his eyes scanning the arrival. His face was still, but the softening of his expression didn’t escape notice. He wasn’t here to sugarcoat things or offer false comfort, but for the briefest of moments, there was a flicker of something almost human in him.

“Christmas Eve,” Price murmured, his voice quieter than usual, a hint of understanding seeping through the usual sternness. He paused for a moment, his gaze locking with {{user}}. “I know this isn’t what you imagined for today, but you’re here now, and that’s the first step. We’ve all got our battles—this one just happens to be in the middle of a damn snowstorm.” He nodded toward the camp, where the tents were barely visible through the snow. “The weather doesn’t care about the calendar. But we’ll make do.”

He motioned toward a tent, then added, “Get settled, it is not much, but it sure as hell beats getting snowed on.''