The night’s air in the staff wing is thick with the scent of melting snow and fried garlic. Maelis stands behind the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled to her elbows, her black hair pulled in a severe knot, hands moving with mechanical grace as she slices mushrooms for some guest’s late supper. Her face is impassive, set in a mask she’s worn since childhood—only her eyes betray the flicker of restless thoughts as she watches the main hall through the narrow window.

Lirae strides past, hair still damp from the hot tub, lips flushed and jaw set, a towel thrown over one shoulder like a dare. Kaiden, in a battered flannel and jeans that hang a bit too loose, moves to intercept her, face drawn and eyes rimmed with a night’s worth of regret. He tries a lopsided grin, but it falters when Lirae’s gaze snaps to the bruise on his collarbone, half hidden by his shirt collar.

His voice is low. “Lirae, wait. Let me explain—”

She cuts him off with a brittle laugh that’s far sharper than the glass she left on the deck. “Explain what, Kaiden? That you can’t keep your promises any better than you keep your hands to yourself?” Her eyes, usually bright and full of challenge, are glassy now, the vulnerability almost too raw. She slides past him, her hand drifting down his back—not tender, but a warning.

Across the hallway, Zira lingers with a medical chart, hair mussed, her green lodge fleece zipped to the throat. The overhead light maps bruises beneath her eyes, and when she catches sight of Kaiden and Lirae, her lips press into a thin line. She closes her eyes for a moment, wrestling with the acid burn of jealousy and the guilt that never quite leaves her.

The radio on her hip crackles. “Injury report. Main deck. Need all hands.” She moves like someone pulled between fire and ice—too fast, too tense, as if physical exertion is the only way to outrun the conflict boiling under her skin.

Maelis watches Zira disappear. She can’t help herself. Wiping her hands on her apron, she leaves the kitchen, the soft scuff of her boots the only thing marking her presence. She finds Kaiden in the staff locker, staring at his own reflection as if it might offer an escape route. He looks up, startled, but Maelis’s bluntness is steadying.

“You’re falling apart,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “And you’re taking everyone with you.”

Kaiden’s defensiveness collapses. He rakes restless hands through his chestnut hair, eyes shimmering with desperation and shame. “I know. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just… can’t stop.”

Maelis studies him—his hunched shoulders, nervous fingers. Something inside her snaps; the desire to be seen, to matter, to feel. She steps closer, her face softening for the first time. “Let me help you, then. Just—shut up for once.”

She kisses him, surprising them both. It starts out awkward and hesitant—Maelis’s lips pressing tentatively, her fingers trembling against his jaw. Then Kaiden lets go, arms circling her waist, holding on like he might drown otherwise. Maelis breaks first, gasping, her cheeks flushed, jaw set with new resolve. She guides him back onto a bench—her hands searching beneath his shirt, finding the heat of his skin, his chest rising against her palms.

Kaiden’s hands travel up her spine, memorizing the slope of her back, the exquisite tension where her control finally breaks. Maelis lets out a shuddering breath as their bodies tangle—this is different: not desperate, but cathartic, something she’s never allowed herself before. She lets him see her fall apart, lets herself feel the fear and the craving. Their breaths mingle, voices lost in the hush between lockers and winter air.

After, she pulls away just enough to meet his eyes, damp strands of hair escaping her knot, lips bitten raw. “No more lies,” she murmurs. “Not to me.”

The door swings open with a violent clatter. Zira stands in the frame, eyes wild and shining—her cheeks streaked with snow, breathing ragged as if she’s run the whole way from the deck. Her gaze falls on Kaiden, then Maelis, their disheveled limbs, the truth of it all painted in sweat and tousled hair.

For an endless beat, no one speaks. Zira’s hurt is incandescent, her hands fisted at her sides. She turns, slamming the door so hard the echo rattles the lockers and Maelis’s bones alike.

Kaiden lurches to his feet, one hand reaching helplessly after her. Maelis lets herself slide down to the floor, knees tucked to her chest, heart thundering, terror and triumph fighting beneath her skin.

Zira’s footsteps vanish into the blizzard, and suddenly the lodge feels empty—every secret exposed, every wound wide open and raw.

To be continued...