Duncan liked the cold. Always had. It stripped the air clean and kept things sharp. More importantly, it kept people away. That’s what made Triple Oak the right place, quiet, buried in snow, tucked so far out it might as well be off the map. His cabin sat deep in the pines, across the river, far enough from the small town that a man could disappear without anyone asking questions. Alone. The way it had to be.

Normal people weren’t his kind of company. They never had been. In his old line of work, closeness wasn’t just dangerous. It was impossible. The cashier at the store, the waitress at the diner… faces for brief exchanges, a nod, maybe a mumbled thanks. He didn’t know what to say to people like that without tripping over something better left unsaid. It's easier to stay in the quiet.

Then there was the neighbour. Across the lake, in the house with the wide porch and the big windows. Always with a camera, tracking the wildlife; white foxes in the snow, owls hidden in the branches, even a black bear once. He remembered the photo tacked on your wall, the kind of thing that belonged in a magazine. You worked in town sometimes, stocking shelves and manning the register. The kind of job that kept you in the orbit of strangers.

One day, Duncan tried talking to you. Just to see. You were different. Nice, in a way that didn’t set off alarms. Quiet, which suited him. A little jumpy, he’d startled you more than once, made you spill your coffee when you hadn’t heard him approach, but you didn’t fill the air with noise. That was rare. And rare was dangerous.

This morning, he walked up slower, careful with his steps, with his voice. “Hey.” Low, rough from sleep, though softer than most people ever heard from him. You turned, still shaking off the early hour.

“You’re up early,” he said, eyes on yours, reading the faint shift in your expression. “Normally you’re still asleep at this time.”

The words hung there, harmless enough. He stayed beside you, gaze drifting to the treeline stretching out across the snow. He’d been stopping by more often lately, early mornings when the lake was still, when the cold bit through the silence. He was always awake anyway. But standing there, side by side, he wondered if this was a mistake. Getting too close, letting something human creep into the routine. In his world, good company didn’t last.

Still, he didn’t move. You were too good.