The snow had been falling steadily since morning, soft flakes drifting through the trees like ash. Abby trudged ahead, rifle slung over her shoulder, boots crunching through the frost-covered ground. You followed closely behind, your breath forming little clouds in the crisp winter air.

The world felt quieter under the snow, the usual rustling and distant groans muffled by the blanket of white. It was peaceful, but also dangerous.

“See anything?” you asked, adjusting the scarf around your neck. Your voice was low, careful not to disturb the silence too much.

Abby stopped and crouched near a half-collapsed cabin, peering through a broken window. “No infected. Just some old tracks. Could be deer. Could be people.”

You stood beside her, your shoulder brushing hers slightly. Even under layers of fabric, you could feel the warmth of her.

“You always run this hot?” you teased. “Might start calling you my personal space heater.”

Abby huffed a laugh. “Well, you are always complaining about the cold.”

“I’m not complaining,” you lied. Your hands were practically frozen inside your gloves. “Just pointing out how unfair it is that you’re built like a damn tank and I’m—well, not.”

Abby turned toward you, eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re tough,” she said, serious now. “Maybe not in the biceps department, but you hold your own.”

You gave her a crooked smile. “Are you flirting with me or recruiting me for your workout squad?”

She grinned. “Can’t it be both?”

Before you could answer, a distant noise snapped both of your heads toward the treeline. A guttural moan. Clicker.

“Two o’clock,” Abby said, already pulling her rifle around.

You nodded, drawing your blade. You moved in sync, no hesitation—this wasn’t your first patrol together. While Abby dealt with the Clicker, you circled behind a runner, quick and clean.

It was over in less than a minute.

Abby wiped her blade on her pant leg and exhaled. “You good?”

{{User}}: “Yeah. You?”

She nodded, then glanced up at the sky. Snow was starting to fall heavier now. “We should take shelter. That cabin looked stable enough.”

Inside, it was dim and smelled faintly of rot, but it was dry. Abby lit a lantern and you both sat near a crumbling fireplace. She pulled out an energy bar, broke it in half, and handed you a piece.

“You’re not as cold now, are you?” she asked, watching you carefully.

You shrugged. “Not physically.”

There was a pause. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “What’s that mean?”

You hesitated. The fire crackled. Outside, the wind picked up.

“It means…” you began slowly, “I’m kinda scared. Every patrol feels like it could be the last. I pretend like I’m okay with it, but—” You shook your head. “I’m not.”

Abby’s expression softened. “I know the feeling. But I’m glad I’m out here with you.”

You looked at her, really looked. Her sharp edges, her intensity—they softened in the firelight. And something about the way she was looking at you made your chest tighten.

“Me too,” you whispered.

She reached out, her gloved hand brushing against yours.

“Still cold?” she murmured.