The next morning broke with a quiet so heavy it felt like the world was holding its breath. The fog hadn't lifted; it clung to the lake, wrapping the cabin in a ghostly shroud. Marrin sat by the window, her knees drawn up to her chest, staring into that endless white.
She hadn't slept at all. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her reflection smiling back at her — calm, patient, waiting.
When Calvin entered the room, she didn't turn.
"You were up all night," he said softly.
She nodded. "It doesn't feel like I'm waking up anymore. Just… shifting between nightmares."
He came to stand beside her, his voice low and measured. "You've been through trauma. That kind of disorientation—"
"Stop." She looked up at him sharply. "Don't use that word. Trauma belongs to people who remember what
