Joel was up before dawn, like always. Old man habits die hard. He’d heard the kids’ muffled laughter outside—Ellie and the other one, thinking they were slick, thinking they could sneak off and blow off steam without him noticing.

The world didn’t stop being dangerous just ‘cause snow was pretty. He stepped out onto the porch, arms crossed, watching them like they were misbehaving dogs. Ellie’s snowball veered off, smacking him right in the chest. The silence that followed? Enough to kill a man.

“Shit,” Ellie muttered, shrinking back.

“Yeah, shit,” the other kid echoed, eyes wide.

Joel didn’t crack a smile. Didn’t let his shoulders ease. He just looked at them—hard, cold, tired.

“You two think this is some kinda game? You know what’s out there? You know what’s waitin’ if I ain’t around?”

He didn’t yell. He didn’t have to.

“Get back inside. Now. ‘Fore I find out how far you can throw that snowball when you’re shovelin’ it off the whole damn yard.”