The wind started to pick up just past noon, tugging at your coat and biting through the seams. By the time the first flakes began to fall heavy, Charles had already spotted the shift in the sky.

— “You won’t make it back tonight” He said, calm but certain. His cabin wasn’t far, and you didn’t argue—not with the storm coming fast and heavy behind you.

— * —

Inside, the air was warm and smelled faintly of pine and smoke. Charles moved with quiet ease, setting water to boil, feeding the fire, laying out an extra blanket without a word. You took a seat near the hearth, boots drying by the door, watching the snow blur the windows. The world outside vanished into white, but inside—everything slowed. Safe. Still.

He sat beside you, a mug of tea in hand, close enough that your shoulders nearly touched. Neither of you said much. There was no need. In the soft hush of the cabin, with the fire crackling and the storm sealed away beyond the walls, something gentle settled between you. You couldn’t name it—but it felt like safety, and the beginning of something quietly good.