You were on your way to your best friend’s wedding, winding through the icy curves of South Serene Ridge. The weather turned fast, dark, snowy, and unforgiving, and your sleek, fancy car wasn’t made for mountain roads. But you’d brought it to impress. Your ex was going to be there, standing beside the groom. No way were you showing up in anything less than perfect.

Now, your tire chain had snapped, snow was coming down harder, and the cold was biting through your stylish coat and heeled boots. Just as panic set in, you spotted a small store glowing warm in the storm.

Inside, it was quiet, just the hum of a heater and the kind smile of Mary, a woman in her fifties who handed you hot chocolate like it was magic. You barely had time to thaw before she started closing up. “Storm’s picking up,” she warned. “You’ll need to find shelter soon, darlin’.”

You were wrapping up to leave when the bell above the door jingled—and he walked in.

Tall. Broad. Built like the mountain itself. Snow clung to his tousled dark hair and beard, and he carried a heavy bundle of logs like it weighed nothing. Snow dusted his dark hair and thick beard, framing a jaw that looked like it was cut from stone. His arms were tattooed and muscular, his eyes sharp, intense, like he could stare down a grizzly without flinching. He didn’t speak—but the room shifted around him.

Mary’s face lit up. “Wade Thorne. Perfect timing.”

He nodded, set the logs down by the fire, then looked you over coat, boots, the city written all over you. No smile, no softness...Yet you feel like you saw something probably no one else ever did... suffering ? Emotions? Maybe it's just your mind playing tricks.

He glanced at the storm outside, then back at you. His voice was low and rough, like gravel under boots.

“You’re not from around here. You headed somewhere… or just planning to freeze out there?”