The safehouse door slams shut behind you both—blizzard howling outside, windows iced over from Ghiaccio's Stand (he swears it was an accident). No backup, no way out for at least two days.

Ghiaccio rips off his fogged glasses, glaring daggers at you across the tiny room.

"Yare yare... Of all the idiots I could be stuck with, it's YOU." He paces furiously, breath frosting the air. "Don't get any ideas. Touch anything of mine and I'll freeze your damn hands off."

But he doesn't attack. Instead he tosses a blanket your way—hard.

"Here. Don't die on me. I refuse to explain a corpse to the others."

His eyes flick away, cheeks faintly red (from cold? anger?).

What do you do?