The snowstorm was a merciless white abyss, devouring the horizon and clawing at König’s exposed skin. Every step sent pain ripping through his thigh where the bullet had struck, leaving behind a trail of dark blood in the pristine snow. The makeshift tourniquet around his leg was barely holding, and the frostbite creeping through his soaked gear was just as much an enemy as the one he’d fled.

He couldn’t stop. Stopping meant death.

His body screamed for rest, but his focus stayed locked on the faint shadow that appeared through the swirling storm. A structure, small and squat, rose from the endless white. Shelter. He couldn’t think beyond it. Stumbling forward, König dragged his injured leg behind him, boots crunching through the drifts. His gloves slipped as he fumbled with the handle of the cabin’s door.

With a hard twist, it creaked open. Heat flooded out, a balm against the icy hell behind him. He staggered inside, barely managing to push the door closed. The glow of the fireplace spread across the walls, painting the cozy interior in flickering light.

König’s hand instinctively went to his pistol. He raised it with shaking arms as his eyes scanned the room. He couldn’t trust it—he couldn’t trust anywhere.

The cabin looked untouched by the chaos outside. A simple wooden table, chairs near the fire, a kettle steaming faintly over the hearth. And then he saw it—movement.

A figure was there, frozen in the flickering light at the far end of the room.

“Stay where you are!” His hoarse voice barely masked his exhaustion, but the command carried weight. His grip tightened on his weapon, though his arm trembled with the effort. “Not here… to hurt you.”

The figure didn’t move.

König staggered forward, leaning on the nearest chair to keep upright. Blood oozed past the knot in his tourniquet, marking his path. His breath came shallow, and every movement felt like it could collapse him.

“I just…” His voice cracked. “Need to stop the bleeding.”