The first thing Evergreen Falls lost was power.
Lights flickered across the town just after sunset, then went dark entirely—streetlamps, storefronts, homes, all swallowed by an unnatural twilight. Snow continued to fall, soft and deceptive, as if nothing were wrong.
The second thing the town lost was certainty.
Maya felt it immediately.
The charm at her chest pulsed unevenly—not cracking, not dimming, but tightening, like time itself had drawn a breath.
"Rowan," she said quietly. "He's changed tactics."
Rowan stood at the window of the lodge, jaw set. "Yes."
"Not force," Maya continued. "Pressure."
Rowan nodded once. "Eirwyn doesn't need the town to submit anymore. He needs it to doubt."
A distant bell tolled from the church—once, twice—then stopped mid-ring.
Maya's stomach twisted. "That's not normal."
"No," Rowan said grimly. "That's a signal."
⸻
Loss Without Ice
They reached the town center quickly. Emergency lanterns glowed, casting long shadows over gathered crowds. People whispered nervously, clutching coats and hands, children held close.
Mayor Collins stood near the steps of the courthouse, face pale. "The hospital generators failed," he said when he saw them. "We're rerouting patients, but—"
A woman sobbed nearby. "My father's on oxygen—"
Maya's heart dropped.
"This isn't winter's cold," she whispered. "It's absence."
Rowan's fists clenched. "He's draining momentum. Hope. The things people don't notice until they're gone."
The charm pulsed sharply.
Maya closed her eyes—and felt it.
Threads.
Thin, fragile lines of probability snapping one by one.
Eirwyn wasn't attacking bodies.
He was attacking time.
"How long?" Maya asked.
Rowan's voice was low. "Until midnight."
Her breath caught. "Christmas Eve."
"Yes."
The countdown had begun.
⸻
A Choice That Hurts
They worked fast.
Rowan coordinated crews, lending calm authority where panic threatened to spread. Maya moved through the crowd, not glowing, not commanding—listening, reassuring, nudging small chances into better outcomes.
A generator sputtered back to life at the clinic.
A trapped elevator restarted.
A delivery truck arrived with fuel it "shouldn't" have had.
Small mercies.
But not enough.
Rowan pulled Maya aside near the clock tower. Snow dusted his hair; exhaustion lined his face.
"This won't hold," he said. "He's bleeding the town slowly so no single miracle can fix it."
Maya nodded. "He wants me to choose again."
Rowan swallowed. "This time… it won't be blood or memory."
"What then?"
"Commitment," Rowan said quietly. "A permanent anchor."
Her heart thudded. "You."
"Yes."
Maya searched his face. "If I bind myself to you—really bind—what happens?"
Rowan didn't look away. "Your magic stabilizes mine completely. Winter loses its leverage over me."
"And the cost?"
Rowan's voice dropped. "You lose the option to walk away from this life."
Silence pressed in.
Maya stared at the glowing clock hands—minutes ticking down.
"I don't want to trap you," Rowan said. "Or myself."
She reached for his hand. "Is it a trap if I choose it?"
He exhaled shakily. "That's what terrifies me."
⸻
The Words
A sudden cry cut through the square. A stretcher rushed past them—an elderly man, unresponsive.
Maya's chest tightened. "We're running out of time."
Rowan closed his eyes, then opened them—decision clear.
"Maya," he said, voice rough, "I've been avoiding this because once I say it, I can't pretend anymore."
She looked up at him, breath shallow.
"I love you," Rowan said. "Not because fate pushed us together. Not because winter demanded it. But because you chose balance when everyone else chose fear. Because you make me human."
The world seemed to still.
Maya's eyes burned. "Rowan—"
"I don't need your answer right now," he added quickly. "I just need you to know the truth before you choose."
The charm pulsed—warm, steady, honest.
Maya cupped his face, thumbs brushing away melting snow.
"I love you too," she said softly. "And that's exactly why I'm choosing this."
His breath hitched.
⸻
Midnight Approaches
They stood beneath the clock tower as eleven-fifty crept closer.
Eirwyn appeared across the square, calm and certain.
"Beautiful," he called. "Confessions always make endings sweeter."
Maya stepped forward, Rowan beside her.
"This ends tonight," she said.
Eirwyn smiled thinly. "All things do."
The charm lifted from Maya's chest, glowing—not blinding, not wild.
Complete.
"Rowan," Maya whispered, "stay with me."
"Always," he replied.
As the clock hands moved toward midnight, snow began to glow faintly across Evergreen Falls—not freezing, not falling.
Listening.
The final choice hovered, waiting for the last second to pass.