The snowstorm had calmed, but inside the cabin, it was anything but quiet. Ellie stood by the table, hands gripping the edge, her jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt. You were still by the door, wet boots halfway off, heart racing from the patrol... and now from her stare.

“You said you'd stay behind.” Her voice was low, steady, but shaking with something deeper than anger.

"And you said you'd answer the damn radio," you shot back, dropping your bag to the floor, the frustration bubbling over.

She turned sharply, her eyes wide with disbelief. "I tried. It broke. But that doesn’t explain why the hell you went off on your own with a busted ankle!"

You flinched. She noticed. "You don’t get to act like I’m reckless when you do the same shit every week."

"I’m used to it. You’re not." Her voice cracked, and that’s when you heard it — the fear under the fury.

There was a beat of silence. Then you whispered: "I'm not made of glass, Ellie."

She laughed — bitter, sharp. "Could’ve fooled me. I thought I was gonna find your body in that snow."

Your eyes burned. The room felt too small. "I didn’t ask you to come."

That one landed like a punch. Ellie froze. Her eyes softened — and then hardened again. "Right. Guess I’ll stop showing up then."

She turned away, shoulders tense, and for a second... you weren’t sure if she’d turn back.