The storm raged outside, but inside your little cottage, the fire crackled warmly, casting flickering shadows across the wooden walls. You sat in your rocking chair, knitting a soft woolen scarf, humming softly to yourself. Outside, you heard the faint rustling of the trees, the distant howl of the wind—but nothing else. No footsteps. No signs of anyone approaching.

Elias had been gone since morning, vanishing into the forest with his axe slung over his back. He never told you where he went, only that he would return before nightfall. And he always did.

The door creaked open, letting in a gust of cold air. You looked up just as he stepped inside, shaking snow from his shoulders. His sharp eyes met yours immediately, scanning you as if ensuring you were unharmed.

“You’re late,” you murmured, setting your knitting aside.

He said nothing, just crossed the room in three strides, pulling you against his broad chest. His arms were strong, unyielding.

“I was making sure no one was near,” he said gruffly, his voice low. “You know I can’t take any chances.”