Talia sat cross-legged on the couch, knees drawn up to her chin, her wild hair tumbling over a thick cream sweater, thumbs nervously tracing circles on the rim of her chipped mug. Elcor’s laughter echoed from the kitchen, a little too loud, a little too forced, as he fumbled for rye bread and spun stories about half-forgotten mountain hikes. When he caught Talia’s gaze, his smile faltered, soft sadness curling at the edges of his eyes, like he knew she wasn’t really with him.

Riev paced the corner of the room, hands stuffed in his pockets, scarf carelessly knotted, jaw set. He barely looked at anyone, but the way his eyes flicked to Talia—sharp, searching, wounded—betrayed all the things he’d rather set on fire than say aloud. When he spoke, each word felt like a challenge tossed into the air, goading Elcor, daring Talia.

Fyren slipped through the foyer, unreadable as ever, boots dusty with salt. He set a basket by the fire and lingered there, back rigid, the glow casting his scars in delicate relief. He watched the others with the wary patience of a man who’d learned not to expect much from warmth. His eyes kept darting to the window, where Zeira’s red parka flashed against the snow, her arms bundled awkwardly with paintings and supplies.

Talia found Elcor in the hallway, shoulders hunched as he thumbed his wedding ring—now on a chain around his neck. She touched his arm tentatively. He looked up, blue eyes rimmed red, and exhaled shakily. “I fucked it up, Talia. My marriage, everything. I thought if I ran here, I could… I don’t know. Find myself again. Maybe find someone who’d stay.”

She reached for his hand, those long fingers trembling against hers, and for a moment the air was thick with wanting. Elcor leaned in, eyes drifting closed, and pressed his mouth to hers—slow, hesitant, a question he wasn’t sure he should ask. She answered, parting her lips, letting him draw her closer, her heart both aching and fluttering wildly at his gentleness. He cradled her jaw, a thumb brushing her cheek, until she melted into his chest, surrendering. In the hush, guilt gnawed at her—she saw Riev’s silhouette pass behind frosted glass, and flinched.

Riev felt the world tilt when he saw Talia in Elcor’s arms. He stormed outside, snow crunching beneath his boots, breath ragged. Every inch of him screamed with jealousy—he wanted to curse Elcor, but mostly, he wanted to smash his own defenses. Talia’s laughter, her softness, haunted him. He stalked the lake’s icy edge, cursing himself, then retreated upstairs, slamming the door behind him.

Zeira arrived at the cabin, wind-whipped and cheeks flushed. She slipped inside, boots kicked off with a thump, and found Fyren in the kitchen. He stood rigid, hands curled tight, eyes glued to the flicker of the stove. She hovered beside him, heart in her throat. “I keep coming here and leaving with emptier arms,” she whispered. “I thought maybe… this time—”

Fyren’s jaw worked, pain flickering in his dark eyes. “I don’t know how to let anybody in, Zeira.” But when she brushed her fingers along his sleeve—silent, imploring—he broke. He reached for her, hands trembling, pulling her into a fierce, clumsy hug. She pressed her face to his neck, breath shaky, and he let a tear slip into her hair. When she looked at him, cheeks gleaming, he kissed her—slow, aching, as if every second might break him open. Her surprise melted into need; she wrapped her arms around him, both trembling, lips searching for solace, heat pressed to cold glass, the rest of the world falling away.

Dinner was chaos—a round table loaded with mismatched plates and simmering tension. Riev slouched in his chair, scowl deepening as Elcor and Talia exchanged soft glances over the wine. Every barb Riev threw was sharper, hungrier, meant to wound. Talia finally snapped, slamming her fork onto porcelain, eyes blazing.

“You don’t get to punish me for not being brave enough to want you,” she hissed.

Riev recoiled, shock flickering in his face, and for a heartbeat his armor crumbled. “That’s not it, Talia. I just… can’t stand seeing you give yourself to someone who’ll leave you, again. Like the last—” He broke off, pain and confession boiling in his tone.

Elcor dropped his fork, chest heaving, and stormed out, boots crunching on the steps as the wind howled.

Upstairs, Riev found Talia crying. He reached for her, but she pulled away, eyes red and wild. “All I ever wanted was to be chosen, Riev!” she sobbed. “And you never ask. You only hurt.”

The walls shook with the blizzard’s fury, but in that moment, the real danger was inside. Talia ran past him, vanished into the swirling white. Riev stood frozen, breath catching, his regret thick and choking.

Downstairs, Zeira collapsed against Fyren’s chest, needing his strength as her own crumbled. His arms held her tighter, but his eyes were fixed on the door, haunted.

Outside, the snow consumed Talia’s footprints almost instantly.

To be continued...