Sunrise came too soon.
The sky bled pale pink and gold across the snow, turning the frozen world soft for just a moment before the cold truth of morning settled in. Inside the cabin, no one had slept. The living room still smelled of last night—sweat, s*x, woodsmoke, pine. Blankets lay tangled where we’d collapsed. The fire had died to ash. The tree lights blinked on, off, on, off—like a heartbeat refusing to stop.
I stood at the front door in yesterday’s clothes—leggings, oversized sweater, coat zipped to my chin. My bag waited beside me, small, pathetic-looking against the weight of everything I was carrying away inside my chest.
They gathered in the entryway—ten men, barefoot or in socks, hair messy, eyes shadowed, shirts rumpled or missing entirely. No one spoke at first. The silenc
