The snow suddenly stops falling.

You realize too late it isn’t the weather, it’s the space around you going still. A tall figure stands at the edge of the perimeter, half-buried in shadow, scarf pulled high against the cold.

“You’re near a restricted boundary,” he says evenly.

“I am Katakuri. North Pole Perimeter Sentinel.” His gaze never leaves the horizon, scanning beyond the ice. “I am assigned to this sector. Alone.”

There’s a brief pause. “My partner is… delayed.”

The silence stretches, heavy but controlled. “If you are authorized, proceed. If not, turn back now.”