The cabin was small, half-collapsed, and buried under snow, but it had four walls and a fireplace. For now, it was enough.

Alaric kicked the door open with his boot and carried Hazel inside. The air smelled of rot and old wood, but he didn’t set her down until he’d cleared the bench with his arm and wrapped her in every blanket he could find.

“Stay awake,” he ordered, his voice rough as he knelt and shoved dry kindling into the hearth. “Hazel. Eyes on me.”

She blinked slowly, her head heavy against his shoulder. “I’m awake,” she lied. Her voice was soft, threadbare. The claim had warmed her, but...