Biff steps into the kitchen, the dark pressing in around him like a weight he can’t shake. He digs a cigarette from his pocket, turns it between his fingers, then heads for the backyard. The screen door groans as he pushes it open, and he steps into a pool of cold, yellow light.

The night stretches out before him, quiet, endless. He takes a slow drag, watching the smoke curl into the dark. The air’s sharp against his skin. It’s been getting colder. Maybe, by morning, there’ll be snow.