Snow whispered against the cabin windows, the kind that makes the world outside look soft and distant — like nothing bad could ever reach them. The power flickered once, twice, before holding steady, and the room filled again with the low hum of the generator and the warmth of the fire.

Matt sat near the hearth, hoodie half-zipped, the glow painting amber lines across his face. You watched him for a moment — how his eyes followed the flames, the quiet rhythm of his breathing. Out here, away from the noise and drama of the group, he looked… peaceful.

“Kind of nice, huh?” you said, breaking the silence.

He looked up, his grin small but real. “Yeah. Guess I didn’t expect peace and quiet with this crew.”

You laughed. “You mean you didn’t come for the constant chaos?”

Matt tilted his head. “Maybe I came for the view.”

You rolled your eyes, pretending to scoff, but you could feel your heart skip at his tone. Before you could answer, the sound of something — a thud, muffled and heavy — echoed from outside.

Matt’s expression shifted instantly, his easy smile fading into focus. “You hear that?”

You nodded, every trace of warmth from the fire suddenly feeling far away. “Probably just the wind.”

But even as you said it, you both knew better.

The thud came again. Closer this time.

Matt stood, grabbing the flashlight from the table. “Stay here, Em. I’ll check it out.”

You reached for his arm. “You’re not going out there alone.”

He hesitated, the conflict flickering in his eyes — protectiveness versus trust. Then he nodded, handing you the backup light. “Stay close, okay?”

You reached for his arm. “You’re not going out there alone.”

He hesitated, the conflict flickering in his eyes — protectiveness versus trust. Then he nodded, handing you the backup light. “Stay close, okay?”