"Let's get you home," Adrian said gently, placing his arm around her.
"Adrian," Irina said softly.
"Yes?" Adrian replied.
"If he's real…" Irina began.
He waited silently.
"…why did you look like you expected this?" Irina asked, searching his face.
For the first time, something flickered across his expression.
"Expected what?" Adrian asked, too evenly.
"That something like this would happen," Irina said.
Snow fell quietly outside of their window.
"Irina," Adrian said carefully, "you fainted in freezing weather. You're shaken. Let's not jump to conclusions."
"That's not what I asked," Irina replied.
He held her gaze.
"Why does it feel like you knew where I was?" Irina asked, her voice almost breaking.
Adrian didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he grabbed her hip and pulled her slightly closer.
Irina was startled.
And for just a second—
his eyes drifted past her shoulder,
as if checking whether someone else was still standing outside of the window.
Irina didn't understand why he suddenly pulled her like that after such a serious, suspicious question.
He then looked at her — not confused, not defensive. Caring.
"Irina," he said at last, voice softer now, "your parents are going to panic if you don't come home soon."
"That's not an answer," she replied.
"I know." His jaw flexed faintly. "But it's the priority."
He started adjusting his scarf around her neck with careful hands—too careful. Too deliberate. As if the act itself gave him something to focus on.
"You're deflecting," she said quietly.
"I'm protecting you," he corrected just as quietly.
"From what?"
A pause.
"From overthinking something that might not be what you think it is."
His face was around her neck, too close , he was adjusting the scarf carefully.
Her eyes narrowed. "You said the footprints ended."
"Yes."
"You said the temperature dropped unnaturally."
"Yes."
"You said the bells sounded wrong."
"Yes."
"And you're still calling this overthinking?"
After adjusting her scarf, Adrian exhaled slowly , white mist rising between them. His eyes flicked again—briefly—to the church tower.
"I study weather anomalies," he said calmly. "Strange patterns happen. Sudden cold pockets. Acoustic distortions in extreme air density."
"That's not what this was," Irina whispered.
He didn't argue.
That silence bothered her more than denial would have.
"Adrian," she said carefully, "when you found me… what exactly did I look like?"
He blinked once. "Cold."
"No frostbite?"
"No."
"No ice on my lashes?"
"No."
She pulled back slightly, watching him. "It was minus thirty-two this evening."
"I'm aware."
"I was lying unconscious in the snow."
"Yes."
"And I wasn't freezing."
He didn't answer immediately.
"Adrian."
"You weren't freezing," he admitted.
The wind shifted.
A faint metallic groan came from somewhere near the square—like metal contracting too quickly.
She swallowed. "That's not normal."
"No," he agreed again.
"You keep agreeing with me," she said slowly. "But you won't explain."
"Because I don't have an explanation," he replied smoothly.
She searched his face.
There it was again—that almost imperceptible delay before he answered certain questions. Like he was choosing which truth to give her.
"Irina," he said gently, placing a steadying hand at the small of her back. "Your mother will call the police if you're not home soon."
"You're changing the subject."
"Yes," he said plainly.
Her eyes widened slightly at the honesty.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because you're shaking again."
"I said I'm not cold."
"I know," he murmured.
That again.
Her stomach tightened.
"You keep saying that," she whispered. "How do you know what I'm feeling?"
He held her gaze for a long moment.
"I know you," he said quietly.
The answer should have comforted her.
It didn't.
Snowflakes falling down behind Adrian can be seen through the window. For a split second—just a flicker—she thought she saw something glint beneath his skin near his temple. Not frost.
Light.
Gone before she could focus.
She moved back sharply.
"What?" he asked instantly.
"Nothing," she lied.
He watched her too closely.
From the corner of the wooden café, a door creaked open.
An older Yakut woman stepped out, the owner, Tuyaara Petrovna. Wrapped in three layers of wool and suspicion, she squinted at them through the falling snow.
"Adrian!" she called out. "Is that the girl?"
"Yes, Tuyaara Petrovna," he replied without turning.
Irina blinked. "You told her?"
"I told her that you are my little girlfriend."
"I am not little ". Irina puffed.
Tuyaara shuffled closer, peering at Irina. "You fainted?" she asked bluntly.
"Yes," Irina replied.
Tuyaara replied,
"You should have taken better care of yourself. Your lover was so worried about you."
Irina felt shy and Adrian smiled slightly.
Tuyaara clicked her tongue.
"Strange night for it. The river cracked ten minutes ago."
Adrian stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"The river?" Irina repeated.
"Yes," Tuyaara said. "Sudden temperature change on record. It just… split in weirdly symmetrical fractures."
Irina looked at Adrian.
He didn't look surprised.
"That happens," he said calmly.
"Not like that," Tuyaara muttered. Then she glanced between them and wisely retreated back toward the café.
Silence returned.
"You didn't react," Irina said softly.
"To what?" Adrian asked, slipping his hands into his pockets.
"The river cracking."
"Ice expands," he replied flatly.
"In symmetrical fractures?" she pressed.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped closer and gently patted her head.
"We're going home," he said quietly.
"Mine?" Irina asked.
"Yes."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"You're not taking me somewhere else?" she asked lightly—but her eyes weren't joking.
His gaze sharpened. "Irina."
"I'm asking," she said.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "If I wanted to take you somewhere, I wouldn't need an excuse."
Her breath caught.
It was meant to sound romantic.
It didn't.
The bells rang again.
Wrong.
Closer.
Irina flinched.
Adrian's eyes snapped toward the church tower instantly this time—no hesitation.
"You hear that?" she whispered.
"Yes."
"That's not wind distortion."
"No."
"Then what is it?"
He stepped in front of her slightly. Protective. Blocking her line of sight to the square's far end through the window.
"You're tired," he said gently.
"I'm not blind," she replied sharply.
"I didn't say you were."
"You're hiding something."
He smiled faintly. "You're imagining patterns."
"And you're avoiding answers."
A shadow moved across the snow at the far end of the square.
Not cast by a person.
Cast by something tall.
Slender.
White.
Irina's pulse spiked.
"Adrian," she whispered.
"I know," he said quietly.
Her heart stopped.
"You know what?" she asked, fear rising in her voice.
But he didn't look at her.
He was staring past her shoulder now, outside the window behind her.
Not afraid.
Calculating.
The shadow vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.
The snowfall softened.
Too softly.
As if it were being controlled.
Irina slowly turned back to him.
"You said you didn't see him," she said.
"I didn't," Adrian replied.
"He wasn't human."
"No," he agreed.
"Adrian," she whispered, fear threading through her voice now. "If he's real… then this isn't weather."
His jaw tightened.
"No," he said quietly.
"Then what is it?"
A long silence stretched between them.
Finally—
"It's seasonal," Adrian said.
Her brows knit together. "Seasonal?"
"Yes."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I can give you tonight."
"Why tonight specifically?" she asked sharply.
He stepped closer again, lowering his voice so only she could hear.
"Because tonight is the thinnest point," he murmured.
Her blood ran cold.
"The thinnest point between what?" she asked.
He didn't respond.
Instead, he cupped her face gently, his touch warm—too warm for this temperature.
"Your parents," he reminded softly. "They'll worry."
"You're doing it again," she whispered.
"Doing what?"
"Redirecting me."
"Yes," he admitted.
"Why?"
"Because if you keep looking at this the wrong way," he said carefully, "you might attract attention you don't want."
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
"Attention from who?" she breathed.
His eyes darkened slightly.
"Not who," he corrected. "What."
A beat.
"And what would that be?" she asked.
The bells stopped.
Completely.
Silence swallowed the square.
Adrian's voice dropped almost to a whisper.
"The kind of thing that believes you belong to it."
Her stomach dropped.
"And do you?" he added softly.
The question didn't sound protective.
It sounded measured.
Testing.
Irina moved back slowly.
"Take me home," she said feeling scared. It seemed like she didn't know her boyfriend she have been dating for almost a year.
His expression softened instantly. Warm again. Familiar again.
"Of course," he said gently, sliding his arm around her shoulders.
Later.
As they began walking, she felt Adrian's strong hold around her.
She glanced down at the snow behind them.
Two sets of footprints.
Side by side.
Normal.
Then—
For just half a second—
A third set appeared between them.
Longer stride.
Perfectly straight.
Before the falling snow swallowed it.
Irina didn't say anything.
But she did not lean into Adrian the way she normally would.
And Adrian—
did not look down.
To be continued.....