Ayla's POV
The cold hit the moment we stepped outside.
Sharp enough to sting, but clean in a way the packhouse hadn't been all morning. Like the air itself was scrubbing the heaviness away, leaving only the bite of winter and the hush of falling snow.
Out here, the noise faded. No whispers. No watching eyes. Just white and quiet and the muffled softness of a world that had buried everything sharp beneath two feet of snow.
My breath came out in small clouds, each one dissolving into the open air. Proof I was still here. Still moving.
The hill wasn't steep, but it looked worse the longer I stared at it. Tracks ran down the center where others had gone before—snow packed hard in places, rutted in others where sleds had cut through and flown. My boots crunched at the top as I hesitated, l
