The cold bit into Andreas’s skin as he knelt by the front wheel of his dark blue Jeep Wrangler, tightening the last bolt. His breath clouded in the frosty air, but he barely noticed; the cold was a minor inconvenience, a familiar adversary he had long since learned to ignore. Snow crunched underfoot as he stood, wiping grease from his hands with an old rag.

As he straightened, rolling his shoulders to ease the stiffness from the cold, his sharp blue eyes caught something unusual in the distance. The small, worn house that had sat abandoned for nearly thirty years—its weathered roof sagging under the weight of fresh snow—showed signs of life. Smoke curled from the chimney, faint but unmistakable against the stark winter landscape.

Andreas frowned, wiping his hands on a rag before leaning against the side of his Jeep. Someone had moved in. His gaze lingered on the house, its silhouette standing solitary across the fields. In this remote stretch of countryside, where his own home and the village beyond were the only beacons of habitation for miles, the sudden appearance of a neighbor was... unexpected.

He narrowed his eyes, studying the house. He hadn’t seen a vehicle pass through or heard any noise to suggest the arrival. Whoever they were, they had come quietly. For a man like Andreas, who valued solitude and predictability, the thought of someone else encroaching on his sanctuary felt... unsettling.