But different. Outside the snow came down harder. The world beyond the window disappeared. Just white. Endless white.
You should stay. She said. The words slipped out before she could stop them. Elijah looked at her. Really looked.
You sure? It's not safe to ride back in that. A beat. And I've got space. The last part came quieter, like she wasn't used to saying it.
He nodded once. Then I'll stay. No hesitation, no long talk, just that. Clara felt something shift again. Deep, unsteady, but not bad, not wrong, just new.
She stood. Moved toward the small spare bed, pulled a blanket over it, hands working faster than her thoughts. You can take that. And you? I'll be fine.
He didn't argue, didn't push. Just watched her. The fire burned stronger now. The cabin felt warmer, smaller, closer. Clara blew out the lantern.
Darkness settled in. Only the fire remained. She lay down, back to him, eyes open. Listening, his breathing was slow, steady, like nothing outside could touch him. The wind howled, snow hit the walls, but inside it felt different, safer.
For the first time in months, she didn't feel alone. And that scared her more than anything else. Because if she let that feeling stay, if she let him stay, then losing him later would hurt worse than anything she had survived so far. Her fingers curled into the blanket, tight, but she didn't tell him to leave, didn't turn around, didn't close that door. And somewhere in the quiet between them, something began to grow.
Slow, careful, like a flame that hadn't decided yet whether it would warm her or burn everything she had left. Morning came without warning. No slow light, no soft warmth, just cold and the sound of something breaking. Clara's eyes opened instantly. Her body already moving before her mind caught up.
The noise came again, sharp, wood snapping. She pushed the blanket off and reached for her boots. Across the room, Elijah was already on his feet. No confusion, no hesitation, just movement. "What was that? " she whispered.
He didn't answer, just grabbed his coat and moved to the door, opened it, the cold slammed inside, hard enough to steal breath. Clara Then she saw it, the east fence, half of it down, posts snapped, wire buried under snow. And beyond it, tracks, deep, fresh, not cattle, too wide. Elijah stepped forward, slow, measured. His eyes Then he spoke.
Something came through last night. Clara's fingers tightened at her sides. Wolves? He shook his head once. Too big.
That sat heavy. Too big. The wind carried a distant sound, low, faint, not close enough to see, but close enough to feel. Clara stepped closer to him without thinking, her shoulder nearly touching his arm. What do we do?
He didn't look at her, still watching the tracks. We fix the fence first. That's it? If cattle get out, you lose everything. His voice stayed calm, steady, like the danger didn't change the order of things.
Work first, fear later. Clara nodded, even if her chest felt tight. They moved together, no wasted time. Elijah pulled the broken posts free, snapped them clean, set new ones into the frozen ground like it was softer than it was. Clara held the wire, hands numb, fingers stiff, but she didn't stop, didn't complain.