The snow came down like it had a personal grudge.
I gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles white, as the SUV fishtailed again on the narrow, unplowed backroad. The GPS had died twenty minutes ago—signal gone, screen frozen on a useless blue circle. My phone was no better; bars vanished the second I turned off the highway. Just me, the dark pines closing in on both sides, and the headlights carving twin tunnels through the falling white.
“Come on,” I muttered, easing off the gas. “Just get me to the cabin.”
The Airbnb listing had promised seclusion—perfect after the disaster of the last six months. Broken engagement. Ex-fiancé who’d cleaned out half my trust fund before vanishing with his new girlfriend. Public humiliation on social media. I’d needed to disappear. This place—remote, cheap,
