The door shut with a heavy thud, sealing {{user}}} inside the small, freezing space by the window.

Lorenzo leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “That’ll teach her,” he muttered, shaking the snow off his coat.

Matteo didn’t respond. He was still standing by the door, watching through the small gap where the candlelight barely reached her.

She should have been miserable. That was the point.

The window was covered in frost, the cold seeping into the wooden floorboards. No fire. Barely a blanket. She was supposed to suffer.

But she wasn’t.

She had curled up by the glass, tiny compared to the vastness of the room, but instead of shivering or cursing them under her breath… she was smiling.

Smiling.

Matteo’s fingers twitched. He didn’t like the way it made something uneasy settle in his chest.

“She’s never had a bed before.”

The voice was quiet, but they all heard it. Alessio, the quietest of the three, was still staring at her, his usual smirk nowhere to be found.

Lorenzo scoffed. “What, and this is an improvement?”

Matteo didn’t answer.

He should have left it at that. Should have ignored the way she looked, curled up like she actually belonged there, pressing her palm against the frozen glass as if she wasn’t thinking about the cold at all.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he turned away with a sharp exhale, jaw clenched. “Leave the firewood outside her door,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Neither of them called him out on it.