Behind her, the children huddled close.
A boy of about eight held the hand of a younger sister whose cheeks were red with frost, while the oldest girl—perhaps ten—watched Marcus with cautious intelligence.
The wind howled again.
Elena nodded.
Not because she trusted him completely.
But because she had no other choice.
Marcus didn’t try to ride the motorcycle through the deepening snow.
Instead, he pushed it slowly along the road, the engine idling softly while his boots carved a path through the drifts. The children clung to Elena, stumbling forward one step at a time, while Marcus kept glancing back to make sure none of them were falling behind.
His cabin sat less than half a mile away, though in the blizzard the distance felt endless.
By the time the small wooden structure appeared through the storm like a dark silhouette against the white sky, everyone was shaking violently from the cold.
