Finn’s lodge,

  Coldspring Village,

  Northern Province.

  Zoe swung the broom, sweeping up glass and ash. The house stayed quiet. No footsteps. No eyes watching her from doorways or windows.

  The only time she could breathe freely.

  She glanced at the splintered wall. How did I end up living in a burnt-down house like this?

  Jaw clenched, she slammed the broom into the floor—once, twice, again. Metal scraped against wood, sharp and loud.

  Voices outside. Light chatter approaching.

  She bolted for the small compartment that Finn made for her. The walls weren’t finished, but they were enough to hide behind.

  Is this how those shut-in losers feel? She dropped down hard and rubbed her eyes. Why am I like this? Why do I relate to them?!

  She crept to the edge and peeked through a gap.

  Finn!.

  He stepped inside, carrying items in both hands.

  Closer.

  Wait, he’s not stopping—he’s coming in.

  A knock on her compartment door.

  Zoe scrambled back, paused, and pretended like she hadn’t been standing there the whole time.

  She eased the door open just enough to poke her head out.

  “Finn…”

  “Zoe.” He smiled, eyes darting away for a second before lifting his arm. Food.

  Her eyes locked onto the plate. Is that rice? That looks like chicken. Stir-fried chicken?

  Her stomach grumbled. She stepped out and took it. No questions. She rushed to the main room—if it could be called that.

  She sat at the makeshift table, a few crates stacked up, surrounded by logs for chairs.

  She started eating. Finn dropped a bundle of clothes nearby, women’s clothes.

  She frowned. Where did he even find those? She didn’t press. She needed them bad anyway.

  He didn’t explain. Just waved once and turned toward the door.

  “Finn…”

  The word slipped out. She froze, covered her mouth. Why did I say that? Think, Zoe. Think.

  She exhaled and tapped the empty log next to her.

  He hesitated. Then turned back and sat.

  She kept eating. He just sat there, watching like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to.

  the realization came to pass.

  Stupid, Zoe. She tapped her forehead. He brought you food and you’re eating alone, without offering him?

  She slid the plate closer to his side.

  “Finn. Aaammmm.”

  She opened her mouth wide and mimed a bite. God, I hope I don’t sound like an idiot.

  He frowned and mimicked the motion. Then pointed at the food.

  She nodded and waved him in.

  He scooped up a bite—rice and chicken—and ate.

  She blinked. It hit her just then—there was only one spoon. And Finn had just used it.

  She stared at it in his hand, suddenly unsure of using the spoon again.

  Finn tensed. Pressed his palms together and said something quick and urgent.

  “)%@&$^$!”

  Is that... sorry?

  He stood, already turning to leave.

  She reached out and caught his wrist. He stopped immediately.

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  She took the spoon. Ate another bite.

  Then handed him the plate.

  They took turns. One spoonful each.

  No talking. Just eating.

  And for the first time in days, her chest didn’t hurt. This feels… nice. Kind of reminds me of… Keyla.

  Tears welled up without warning. She dropped her head to the table.

  Keyla’s moving to another city. And I’m stuck. In whatever this place is.

  She curled her fingers into her hair.

  Finn poked her.

  She raised her head, tears on her cheek. Finn slid the plate toward her for the last spoonful.

  She took it, reluctantly. Finished it. Stood to return to her room—

  —but Finn grabbed her sleeve, tugging her to follow.

  The door slammed open.

  The dog-man again. The one always tagging along with Finn. Gunnar—yeah, that was his name. She remembered the white patch of fur around his right eye.

  Finn flinched and let go of her.

  The two started talking. Gunnar elbowed Finn and glanced at her.

  Zoe shrank back, just a little, hiding behind Finn’s shoulder. Please don’t talk to me. Please just ignore me.

  Gunnar laughed. Finn scratched the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed.

  Come on, Gunnar. Read my mind. I want you to leave.

  They kept talking. Then Finn turned to her and motioned for her to follow.

  Finn led the horses out from the shelter beside the lodge—a lean-to structure of mismatched planks and salvaged tarp, barely wide enough for the two animals.

  He gave his horse a soft pat on the neck, muttered something under his breath—soothing, maybe—then climbed up in one smooth motion.

  He steadied himself, glanced down at her, and extended a hand.

  Zoe raised her eyebrow. He wants me to ride with him? Yeah, no thanks.

  She shook her head. But he didn’t lower his hand.

  They exchanged broken gestures for quite awhile.

  Until.

  Maybe it was the way he looked at her. Or maybe it was the quiet fear gnawing in her chest. Being alone—here, wherever here was—sounded worse than sharing a saddle.

  She grabbed his arm and climbed up behind him.

  They passed another lodge. A girl stood talking with Gunnar. Human, mostly—except for the dog ears poking through her hair. Real ears? Or is this some dog-person cosplay appreciation group?

  Zoe blinked and looked away. The girl disappeared into her hut while Gunnar rejoined them.

  Without a word, they rode.

  They approached a tunnel carved into the rock face—an old mining road, or so Zoe had thought.

  But even before they reached it, she saw the signs. Crates stacked along the sides. Makeshift tents pitched against the cliff. Men and women milled near the entrance, some checking harnesses on tired-looking mules, others wiping sweat and soot from their faces.

  Voices rose and fell in a language she still didn’t understand. Somewhere inside, metal struck rock in steady rhythm.

  Not abandoned. Definitely not.

  They passed the cave mouth, weaving between small groups as Finn and Gunnar offered quiet nods or raised hands. No one stopped them. A few glanced Zoe’s way but didn’t stare. No questions. No smiles, either.

  Just people working. Or waiting to work.

  Not far beyond the tunnel, a narrow trail broke away from the main path and twisted uphill, toward snow-covered ridges.

  She gripped Finn’s coat tighter and buried her face between his shoulder blades.

  Her first time on a horse. The animal’s body was too wide. Too warm. Her legs refused to stay clamped.

  She gripped Finn tighter and prayed.

  She opened her eyes to a blur of white—snow beneath them, sky beside them, and a cliff close enough she stopped breathing for a second. No, no, no. Mama, help me.

  She shut her eyes again, hoping that this riding session finished faster.

  Ten minutes. Maybe twenty.

  Finally, the horse slowed. Stopped.

  Finn nudged her arms—still locked tight around his stomach. She didn’t move.

  He sighed, pried her arms off, and twisted to look at her.

  Gunnar stood a few steps away, arms open like he was ready to catch her.

  She recoiled.

  Too late. Finn grabbed her by the collar and tossed her off.

  Nooo, what the hell—

  Gunnar caught her—surprisingly gentle. His fur was soft... mostly. She ran her hand along his back. Mushy mushy Gunnar.

  One patch felt rough. Bristly. Wait, what is this?

  Gunnar stiffened, then jumped back, barking—loud.

  Zoe startled back in fear. What just happened? What did I do?

  Finn rushed in, stepping between them.

  Gunnar stared at her, eyes wide. Slowly, he lowered his head, pressed his palms together, then darted toward a nearby tent.

  God, I hate this. I hate feeling like an idiot. Okay. Focus. Time to fix this.

  She turned to Finn. Pointed at him. “Finn.” Then at herself. “Zoe.” Then scooped some snow and pointed.

  He blinked, confused. Started to turn away to Gunnar.

  She grabbed his sleeve. Repeated the motions. “Finn. Zoe. What is this? Snow. Tell me.”

  He tilted his head. Thought. Then repeated her gestures. “Finn. Zoe. Snow. S-N-O-W.”

  “Snow.” She laughed and jumped. “S. N. O. W. Snow. Oh my god, I’m a genius.”

  She pressed her palms together. “Finn. Zoe. Snow…”

  Finn joined in. “Finn. Zoe. Snow. Sorry. S-O-R-R-Y. Sorry.”

  “Sorry,” she echoed, softer now.

  She spun and ran toward Gunnar, who crouched near a firepit, trying to light kindling.

  She stopped in front of him, bowed her head, and said, “Gunnar. Sorry.”

  He looked up, surprised. Then smiled.

  He mirrored her gesture. “Zoe. Gunnar sorry too.”

  They shook hands. Finn stood nearby, smiling and shaking his head like she was a toddler who just learned to clap.

  The fire caught. Zoe spotted sausages. Real ones. Her stomach practically clapped.

  Gunnar and Finn got to work, skewering them. Zoe joined in.

  Between cooking, they pointed at objects, naming each one. She repeated them like flashcards.

  The sausages sizzled. Finn pulled a flask from his bag, pouring golden liquid into mugs for himself and Gunnar.

  When he hesitated at hers, she shoved it forward. Come on, Finn. I helped. Don’t be stingy.

  He frowned. “Arbok mead”

  She didn’t care. Didn’t really know what that meant. Just glared and shoved his hand again.

  He poured a small amount.

  She glared. Shoved his hand again.

  He poured more.

  That’s more like it, Finn. Don't be stingy with a girl.

  After all the food was ready, they hiked uphill on foot.

  At the top, she stopped. Her breath caught. Below her: white hills, winding trails, frozen rivers. Tents like scattered seeds. Hold up… since when could I see this clearly?

  She blinked. Rubbed her eyes.

  Whatever. Doesn’t matter.

  Finn sat beside her. Gunnar on the other side.

  They spoke in their language—still mostly nonsense to her.

  But she sat there anyway. Eating sausage.

  Smiling.

  Pretending—for once—that everything was okay.

  She took a sip of the golden liquid.

  The taste was sweet, almost too delicate.

  Her chest warmed. The snow didn’t seem as cold anymore.

  She drank more, almost finished her mug.

  Wait… why is everything blurred?

  -