For a moment, neither of us moved. The only sound was the faint hiss of the fire and the wind brushing against the cabin walls.
My mind scrambled through possibilities — Kelly, back earlier than expected? A hiker who'd lost their way? Or something else entirely.
"Stay here," I said to Amelia. The words sounded steadier than I felt. I crossed the room slowly, every board groaning beneath my weight like it wanted to warn me off. My hand hovered over the doorknob.
Then came another three knocks — slower this time.
Deliberate.
I looked back. Amelia was half off the bed now, her eyes fixed on the door, her knuckles bone-white against the blanket.
I took a breath and opened it.
A stranger stood on the porch.
He looked late thirties, maybe forty, tall and broad-shouldered beneath a coat powdered with snow.
His face was calm, even polite, but his eyes… his eyes were searching.
Measuring.
"Morning," he said, his voice deep and even. "Hope I'm not interrupting."
I held the doorframe a little tighter. "Morning. Something you need?"
He gave me a small smile that didn't touch his eyes. "Name's Mark. Been staying a few miles over the ridge. Generator's just about dry, figured I'd see if anyone had some fuel to spare."
Behind me, Amelia shifted. I didn't turn, but I felt her tension, like the air itself had thickened around her.
"Few miles, huh?" I asked, keeping my tone casual. "Haven't seen anyone else up this way since the storm."
Mark shrugged. "Most people don't bother with weather like this. Takes a certain kind of person to stay put."
His gaze slid past me into the cabin. He didn't bother to hide it. "Looks like you've made yourself comfortable. Cosy setup."
Something about the way he said it made my shoulders tighten.
I stepped slightly to block his view. "I'll check the shed. Might be something out back."
"Of course." His smile flickered wider, like he was pleased with the answer.
Then his eyes darted past me once more—quick, sharp—before coming back.
"Appreciate it."
I nodded, forcing neutrality. "Walk with me. I'll see what I've got."
His shoulders shifted, the smallest sign of ease, like that's what he'd wanted all along.
"Lead the way."
I stepped outside, shutting the door behind me with a little more force than necessary. The cold stung my skin, sharp and clean, but it didn't calm me. Out here, the silence pressed harder, broken only by our boots grinding in the snow.
We walked toward the shed. My tone was loose, but my pulse was hammering. "You been up here long?"
"A while," he said, like it was both truth and dismissal.
Then, after a pause, "Long enough to notice how quiet it gets. How far from everything this place really is."
I glanced at him. His gaze wasn't on the trees, or the sky, or even the snow. It was on me.
Steady.
Assessing.
"Guess that's why people come out here," I said.
"Privacy."
Mark's mouth curved. Not a smile. Something smaller. Sharper.
"Privacy's a funny thing, isn't it? Sometimes it's exactly what someone wants. Sometimes it's exactly what they don't want you to have."
The words sank under my skin. I didn't answer.
We stopped at the shed. I reached for the handle, but Mark spoke again.
"Cabin like that must feel like a safe place. Tucked away. No one looking in." He tilted his head, considering me, like he was waiting for a reaction. "But places like that — they can start to feel like traps if you're not careful."
I pulled the shed door open, jaw tight. Inside, the faint smell of oil and wood. A half-full can sat by the wall. I grabbed it and turned back, holding it out.
"This should keep your generator alive until you make it into town."
He took it, but his fingers lingered a little too long on the handle, as though the handoff itself mattered more than the fuel.
"You're a decent guy," he said finally. "That much is obvious. Just… be careful who you're decent to."
The words landed heavier than the snow underfoot.
I forced a stiff smile.
"Safe travels."
He studied me a beat longer, then gave a single nod.
"Yeah. You too."
Then he turned and walked back toward the treeline, boots crunching in the snow. His posture was relaxed, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. He didn't look back.
I watched until the forest swallowed him, my breath fogging in the frozen air, my pulse still racing. He hadn't asked for much. He hadn't said anything outright. But everything in the way he'd spoken — what he didn't say — coiled under my skin like barbed wire.
Whatever he was doing out here, whatever he wanted, it wasn't just fuel.
And if he'd found us once, he could again.
I turned and strode back to the cabin, my mind already set.
I shut the door behind me, harder than I meant to. The sound made Amelia flinch.
She was half on her feet now, blanket sliding from her shoulders, her eyes searching mine.
"Who was that?"
I started across the room.
"He said his name was Mark. Claimed he's been staying out on the ridge."
Her face drained of color.
"Mark?"
Something in the way she said it stopped me cold.
"You know him."
Amelia swallowed hard, her knuckles gripping the blanket. For a second, she looked like she might deny it — but then her shoulders sagged.
"He's my ex."
The words hit heavier than the cold outside.
"Your ex?" I echoed.
She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper.
"We were together not long ago. It ended… badly. I didn't think —"
She broke off, eyes darting toward the window like she expected to see him still standing there.
"I didn't think he'd ever find me here."
Pieces slid into place. The way Mark had looked past me into the cabin. The weight behind his words. The way he'd spoken about safety and traps, like he wasn't talking about fuel at all.
I stepped closer, my pulse hammering.
"Amelia — what happened with him?"
Her gaze flicked back to mine, sharp and pleading.
"Brandon, we don't have time for this. If he found me here…"
She shook her head.
"We need to go. Right now."
I stared at her for a beat, then grabbed my coat from the hook and pushed her boots toward her.
"Agreed."