The storm calmed.
Not stopped.
Not gone.
But calmed—like it was taking a shaky breath after screaming for too long.
Arielle leaned into Noah’s warmth, trembling as the last glow of Santa’s letter faded into the storm-dark sky. Snow fell softly now, landing on her hair, her eyelashes, her coat like cold little memories.
For one small, fragile moment, everything felt possible.
Then everything fell apart.
It didn’t happen loudly.
It didn’t happen dramatically.
At first, it was just a feeling—
a shift in the air,
a crack of tension,
a soft, sinking dread in Arielle’s stomach.
She pulled back from Noah, the cold hitting her instantly.
“No,” she whispered. “Something’s wrong.”
Noah frowned. “Ari, hey—look at me. The storm is ending. The magic responded. That’s good.”
But she step
