The private investigator’s visit had left a bruise on the air.
Not visible.
But we all felt it—sharp, persistent, like a splinter under skin.
The road was still closed, but the outside world had already reached through the snow and touched us.
We couldn’t pretend anymore that this mountain was enough to keep everything away.
That night, after dinner, Matthew gathered us in the living room.
The fire was high.
The tree lights blinked slow and gold.
I sat on the sectional between Luke and James—still wearing the hoodie and sweatpants they’d given me days ago, now soft and worn from constant use.
Matthew stood in front of the hearth—arms crossed, eyes steady on me.
“We need to mark you,” he said without preamble.
My pulse jumped.
Mark leaned forward from the armchair.
“Not like a
