Chapter 2 — Strangers with Warm Smiles (Winter POV)
The police station smelled like old coffee and something else like rain combined to a metalic scent . The heaters hummed loudly, but their warmth never reached past my frozen skin. I sat stiff on a hard metalic chair, a wool white blanket wrapped around me like armor I wasn't ready to take off. or too afraid to take it off ...
Around me, I heard voices: someone coughing across the room, printers spitting out reports, and phone conversations that had been recorded. However, it all seemed to be background noise in a film that I wasn't actually involved in. I felt as though I was watching someone else's life unravel through glass.
Even after my legs were cleaned and bandaged, the pain continued to hum softly beneath my skin, reminding me that everything was real. My parents had passed away. Everything was erased, including their voices, their laughter, the scent of mom's perfume in the hallway, dad's playful smile, and our informal morning argument over whether we should have pancakes or browned eggs for breakfast.
And here I was, surrounded by strangers.
One wasn't a complete stranger, though.
Jack—the officer who found me. Early twenties, short dark hair, kind black eyes. His name was stitched on the front of his dark uniform. He didn't ask too many questions. Didn't push about the blood or death. Instead, he came back after a while, holding a folded pile of clothes.
"Thought you might want these," he said gently, kneeling in front of me.
A white long-sleeved shirt—soft cotton, fresh—and a pair of jeans, a little too big but they worked. Black sneakers with worn soles. Normal clothes. Clothes for someone alive. For someone who could still move forward.
"Bathroom's down the hall if you want to change," Jack said carefully, like I might break.
I took the clothes with shaking hands and nodded silently. In the bathroom mirror, I barely recognized myself—wild hair, pale skin, swollen red eyes.I still had blood on my hands, so I washed them... , That wasn't the girl I wanted to be.this girl is broken ...
When I came back, Jack was waiting, holding a sandwich and a bottle of water. "Eat," he said kindly.
But I couldn't.
My stomach felt hollow. Food made no sense. Nothing did.
Jack sat with me anyway. Not too close. Not too far. Like an older brother I never had.
The world buzzed around me, and before I knew it, my head tilted back and my eyes slipped closed. Sleep came fast, heavy, like a drug. Dreamless. Just black.
"Hey," a soft voice whispered, shaking me awake. "Winter?"
I opened my eyes to see Jack crouched beside me, his expression gentle but nervous. Behind him, shadows moved and voices whispered low.
"I didn't want to wake you," Jack said quietly. "But we need to talk about where you're going to stay, alright? Do you have any family we can call? Somewhere you can go while we… handle everything?"
Handle everything. The funeral. The cemetery.
The word made me want to scream, but no sound came out. Only a slow, defeated whisper:
"I don't have anyone," I said. "Only… my parents , i mean i had parents so i'm alone now ..."
Jack nodded, jaw tight, clearly thinking hard. "Okay," he said softly. "We'll figure this out."
Before he could say more, the station door swung open, letting in a gust of cold wind—and with it, two strangers stepped inside.
A man and a woman in expensive black coats lined with fur, boots polished despite the slush outside. They looked like they belonged in a mansion, not a cracked old police station.
The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark slicked-back hair and a sharp smile that didn't reach his eyes. The woman was beautiful—perfect makeup, red lipstick, blonde curls pinned back, a fur collar pulled high.
"Officer Jack," the man greeted smoothly. "Henry Walther. This is my wife, Maria walther."
Jack straightened, shifting from gentle to guarded. "Do she… know you?"
"We're friends of the Virell family," Maria said, honey-sweet voice and gentle smile. "Old friends. We heard about… the tragedy."
Henry glanced at me with practiced sympathy. "Poor girl. No child should have to go through this. We came as soon as we heard. We want to help."
Jack's eyes narrowed.
"We'd like to handle the… arrangements," Henry said, stepping forward. "The cemetery, the funerals. And… we want to adopt her, if she's willing. winter deserves a family who knew her."
Adopt me? is it that easy ? The words barely registered. I didn't know them. I never remembered seeing them at my parents' dinners , parties , or fundraisers. But if they were really friends of my parents…
so i can trust them right ?
That what the fifteen years old girl thought that day .
They smiled like they already knew the answer.
Jack looked at me, tense. "You know them?" he asked softly.
I shook my head, voice barely a whisper. "No. But… they knew my parents, I think."
There I was—a fifteen-year-old girl with cuts on her legs, blood under my nails, no family left. Alone.
The only people offering a safe place were strangers in fur coats with warm, empty smiles.
What choice did I have?
I was alone ...