Riev sits cross-legged on the cabin floor, sunlight catching in his disheveled hair, bare chest marked with inky fingerprints—remnants of last night’s rewriting spree. A thick sheaf of paper rests in his lap, trembling slightly as he tightens his grip. Talia kneels behind him in a faded flannel, her bare knees pressed to the wooden floor, arms draped over his shoulders; she’s tracing idle circles on his collarbone, hair spilling in a golden arc that tickles his ear. When she speaks, her voice is soft but direct: “Are you really sending it?” Her breath warms his neck and he shivers, not just from the cold. He nods, swallowing. “I think—” He falters, the words snagging on old fear. “I think it’s the first time I told the truth and didn’t hate myself for it.” The lines around his mouth soften, blue eyes searching hers with a kind of wonder. For a moment, she squeezes him tight—a silent affirmation—and he leans back, eyes closed, letting himself rest in her certainty.

Footsteps crunch on the porch outside; Elcor appears in the threshold, bearded, shoulders squared in a wool jacket he never takes off, the camera strap digging into his palm. He looks older than he did a week ago. Talia straightens, cheeks pink, but doesn’t pull away from Riev. “Hey,” Elcor manages, his voice brittle with resignation and something kinder. In his gaze, there’s a flicker of grief but no accusation. “I’m heading out,” he says, shifting his weight awkwardly. “Snowplow finally cleared the drive.” Riev’s smile is hesitant, gratitude wrapped around apology. Elcor meets his eyes, nodding once—acceptance, forgiveness, maybe even relief. Talia crosses to Elcor, her sweater sleeves dangling over her hands like shields. “Will you let me see some of the photos?” she asks, looking up at him through water-bright lashes. His smile comes slow, breaking the stiffness in his jaw. “If any of them turned out,” he teases, forcing a lightness into his goodbye. She hugs him fiercely, chin on his shoulder, both of them holding on a breath too long before letting go. As Elcor steps out, he hesitates, looking back—then disappears into white sun.

On the back porch, Zeira stands facing the lake, hair knotted beneath a red scarf, paint flecks on her fingers. Fyren leans beside her, hands jammed in his pockets, posture half-closed, half-longing. He watches Zeira exhale, her breath curling in the spring air, the way her lips purse in nervous anticipation. She glances at Fyren, uncertainty sparking in her dark eyes. "So what now?" she asks, voice trembling, hope and fear tangled together. He shifts closer, fingers just grazing her hand on the railing. “We see what happens when we stop hiding,” he murmurs, voice rough. Zeira’s face breaks open with cautious relief, and she slips her hand into his, knuckles brushing his palm. Their bodies lean together, neither of them trusting this new intimacy, both terrified and unwilling to let go.

Inside, the living room glows with late afternoon gold, dust motes swirling as Talia spins to face Riev. The charge between them is different—less desperate, more daring. Riev cups her face, thumbs tracing her flushed cheeks, gaze hungry and awed. “If you want this—stay.” His words are a promise, not a plea. Talia smiles so big it cracks the last of his cynicism. She shrugs off her flannel, bare skin glowing, crawling into his lap. Their mouths find each other, slow and reverent; his hands slide beneath the curve of her back, hers tangling in his hair, nails scraping his scalp. When their bodies meet, there’s laughter threaded with gasps, every kiss a question and every answer unguarded—skin warm against skin, breathless moans muffled by kisses, love messy and real. Afterwards, Talia curls against him, tracing the lines on his chest with lazy, unafraid fingers, Riev whispering lines of his new story into her hair.

Outside, Zeira and Fyren linger, foreheads touching, shivering not from cold but anticipation. She laughs, sudden and unrestrained. Fyren grins—the first unbroken smile in years—and kisses her, soft and sweet and full of new beginnings.

By dusk, suitcases line up inside the door, boots stamp snow from the threshold. Riev shoulders his bag and takes Talia’s hand, squeezing once—neither ready to let go. Fyren holds the door for Zeira, who looks back at the cabin with a faint smile, paint-stained fingers intertwined in his. Elcor’s car engine rumbles in the drive, windows fogging as he waits. There’s a beat of silence among the five, a hush thick with things unfinished. Someone laughs, someone wipes away a tear, someone squeezes a hand a little tighter.

As the doors swing open and they spill into the thawing world, the lake behind them cracks and groans, ice splitting under a wash of pale sun—echoing the uncertain, fragile hope in their chests.