Caroline felt the last vibration of the day's laughter still living in her bones as they went inside.
Warmth met them at the door. The fire was down to coals, breathing red beneath ash. Outside the windows, snow drifted in slow, steady sheets.
Caroline shut the door and listened to the cabin's quiet and the faint tick of settling wood.
Thorne leaned their boards against the wall with calm precision. He loosened his gloves and tossed them into a basket.
Her thighs ached. Her shoulders felt scraped raw. Her hands were sore from catching herself and then catching herself again.
She was exhausted.
And she felt…light.
In the kitchen, she opened the fridge, stared at the neat shelves, then shut it again without taking anything. The fullness—food, heat, time—still felt like a trick.
Behin
