The morning after the storm, Winterridge looked… tired.
Branches hung low, coated in icy snow. Streetlamps leaned at precarious angles. Broken wreaths and tattered ribbons fluttered like sad flags across the town square. Even the usually cheerful shop windows seemed dull, as if the town itself had survived a long, bad dream.
Arielle trudged through the streets, boots crunching in packed snow, clutching Noah’s hand tightly. Her heart still thumped with the warmth from the ravine rescue, but that warmth was shadowed by the sheer chaos all around them.
“Look at this mess,” she muttered, squinting at the toppled Christmas market stalls. Candy canes lay shattered in the snow, and the smell of burnt gingerbread still lingered faintly near the café corner.
Noah followed, rubbing his arms to k
