The first snowfall came quietly in the night.

By morning, the rogue lands were cloaked in white, the jagged trees softened by a blanket of frost. Evelyn stood on the porch of the cabin, arms folded over her chest as she watched flakes swirl through the air like ghostly dancers. The world looked deceptively peaceful.

She didn’t trust it.

Behind her, Ronan was sharpening a blade, the rhythmic scrape of metal against stone somehow comforting in its consistency. Everything about him was ...