Marcus kicked the door open and ushered them inside.
Warmth wrapped around them like a blanket.
The cabin smelled faintly of cedarwood and motor oil.
Without asking questions, Marcus went straight to the stove, shoving logs into the firebox until flames crackled high.
He grabbed every blanket he owned and piled them beside the hearth.
The children sank to the floor near the fire, silent and stunned.
Elena stood there for several seconds, staring at the walls as if she couldn’t quite believe they were real.
When Marcus handed her a mug of hot tea, her hands trembled so badly she had to hold it with both palms.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Marcus nodded once.
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