INT. WASHINGTON CABIN – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

The cabin groans with each push of the wind outside. Shutters rattle. Snow falls in relentless sheets beyond the frosted windows. Inside, the fire crackles dimly, casting warm light and uneasy shadows across aged log walls. The group is spread out in the living room—awkward silences hanging like cobwebs.

JOSH (cheerfully, too cheerfully) "I’m just saying, this is what they would’ve wanted, you know? For us to be together again."

CHRIS "Yeah, man. Sure. Together again…"

Chris gives a half-laugh. Hollow. He’s slouched in a worn armchair, flicking a warped playing card between his fingers. He doesn’t look up, least not at Josh.

EMILY "Right, because this is how I wanted to spend my weekend. In the middle of nowhere, freezing my ass off."

Emily’s voice is sharp, slicing through the stale tension. She stands near the window, arms crossed, staring into the blizzard as if she could glare the storm away.

MATT "Come on, Em. It’s not that bad."

Matt leans casually against the wall near her, his posture relaxed—but his eyes aren’t. He glances between Emily and Josh, his smile tight, uncertain.

MIKE (grinning, holding up a beer) "At least there’s booze."

He pops the cap off a cold one, the hiss of carbonation cutting through the silence. He lifts it in a toast no one joins, then takes a long pull.