The storm outside roared against the cabin windows, gusts of wind carrying snow that struck hard against the aged wood. The crackling of the fire in the hearth was the only sound filling the silence between you, aside from your own unsteady breathing.

You didn’t know where you were. You didn’t know why you were still alive. All you remembered was the weight of betrayal burning in your skin, the gunshot from Adler, and the darkness that followed.

The world spun when you tried to move, and then a firm voice cut through the air:

“Stay still, Bell.”

Jason Hudson sat beside you, leaning back in a wooden chair with his arms crossed. The fire’s glow outlined his hardened features, shadows dancing across skin marked by time and war. His sharp gaze studied every small movement you made, as if he were waiting for something — or perhaps testing you.

“You’re in no shape to go anywhere.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “And trust me, I didn’t go through all this trouble just to let you get yourself killed now.”

The rough blanket over you felt like lead, but the pain in your body was enough to prove that this wasn’t a dream. Hudson had pulled you out of there.

Silence stretched between you. He didn’t explain why. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t offer comfort.

The only thing he did was grab a steaming metal mug from the table and hold it out toward you.

“Drink this. It’ll help.”

There was coldness in his voice, but also an unwavering certainty — as if he had already made this decision for you. As if there was no room for argument.

And deep down, you knew there wasn’t.