The storm finally broke on the third morning.
The sun came out, blindingly bright against the fresh snow. But the warmth didn't reach inside the cabin. The cozy bubble of domestic bliss we had enjoyed for two days popped the moment Marcus walked into the kitchen.
He wasn't wearing Caleb’s oversized sweater anymore. He was wearing his old tactical gear—cleaned and stitched up by Maya. He looked thin, yes, but he stood tall. The soldier was back.
"Sit down," Marcus said. His voice was no longer raspy. It was cold and sharp. "We need to talk. Now."
Caleb, Tyson, Sloane, Maya, and I gathered around the wooden table. Leo was asleep in the other room.
Marcus spread a piece of paper on the table. He had drawn a map. It wasn't a map of a building. It was a map of a network.
"We were wr
