Riev stepped from the car, shoulders hunched beneath his black wool coat, sharp jaw flecked with stubble and an old bruise coloring the skin beneath one eye. He drew a breath that stung, dragging cold air deep into his chest as he stared at the cabin—weathered wood, low roof, snow collecting around the porch. He tapped a half-smoked cigarette nervously against his palm, eyes darting sideways as Elcor emerged, laughter loud and bright, camera bag slung across his broad chest, yellow knit hat cocked at a rakish angle. Even in boots and layers, Elcor’s stance had the restless energy of someone desperate to make an impression.

Talia bounded up the steps, dark curls tumbling from a purple beanie, cheeks flushed pink against winter’s bite. Her silver rings flashed as she fumbled with the zipper of her puffy jacket, eyes wide with the naivete of someone who still believed a weekend could solve anything. Her gaze flicked from Elcor to Riev—lingering a half-second longer on Riev’s mouth before she forced herself to look away. Riev felt her eyes like a physical touch, his own expression tightening into a smirk that barely masked a flash of nerves.

Inside, the air was laced with woodsmoke and the faint scent of pine. Riev flung his bag onto the battered couch, collapsing next to it, legs sprawled. He made a show of rolling his eyes as Elcor tried to break the tension with forced jokes about “creative synergy,” fingers fidgeting with a camera strap. Talia perched on the hearth, knees pressed together, humming under her breath. She laughed too loudly at Elcor’s attempts, but kept stealing sidelong glances at Riev, lips parting as if searching for the right words.

When Elcor insisted on a group dinner—mismatched mugs of soup, flickering candlelight casting shadows across uneasy faces—the conversation edged toward artistic ambition. Riev, chin tilted back, shot a low blow about “photographers with forgiveness fetishes,” eyes never leaving Elcor’s. Elcor stiffened—knuckles whitening around his spoon—but forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Talia watched, pulse pounding. She reached to refill Riev’s glass, her fingers brushing his, warm and lingering. He met her gaze, cocky mask faltering, vulnerability flickering like a pulse in his throat.

After, Talia found Riev by the frozen dock, the world cocooned in silence except for their breath curling in the cold. Riev hunched his shoulders, pretending not to notice her, but his hands trembled as he fumbled to light another cigarette. Talia slipped closer, her voice soft: “You write like you’re not afraid of anything.” His lips twisted—half scoff, half confession. “I’m terrified of everything.” She touched his sleeve, eyes shining, her touch gentle and deliberate. He turned, face lit by moonlight, and something unguarded passed between them—an ache, raw and unspoken.

She laughed, quiet and bright. “I like the way you see the world.” Her hand lingered on his shoulder. He closed his eyes, letting the moment hang between them, every nerve raw, every word unspoken but heavy with longing.

Inside the cabin, Elcor watched from the window, grip white-knuckled on his mug. The jealousy on his face was sharp and unmissable, twisting all his easy optimism into something brittle.

Riev opened his eyes, breath hitching, pulse loud in his ears. Talia’s hand slid down his arm before she stepped back, biting her lip, cheeks scarlet against the cold. The air between them crackled with something electric, dangerous. Riev’s mouth parted—a yearning rising in him he couldn’t hide.

The first hard snow began to fall, flakes drifting between them, blurring the boundaries, promising that nothing would stay hidden for long.

From the tree line beyond the dock, Fyren watched—silent, unseen—eyes shadowed, secrets coiled tight in his chest.

To be continued...