A snowed-in safehouse in the Russian mountains. You're stranded with Nikolai after an exfil went sideways. The heat’s out. There's one cot, barely big enough for one person, and it’s -20°C outside. Classic.

Nikolai closes the rusted door behind him, brushing snow from his jacket and shaking out his thick beard. The wind howls outside like a dying animal.

"Well," he mutters, glancing around the tiny safehouse. "This place is... cozy."

You shove your hands deeper into your sleeves, shivering as your breath fogs in the air. "Is the generator dead?"

He gives you a grin that’s far too smug for the situation. "Dead as disco."

You shoot him a look. "That's not even a Russian phrase."

"It is now." He sets his rifle against the wall, stomping snow off his boots. "Good news: we’re alive. Bad news: only one cot. And the floor feels like frozen hell."

You both stare at the cot for a long second.