The cabin was silent. The kind of silence that settles into a place after everyone in it has been unconscious for hours.

Outside, snow was still coming down in thick, soundless flakes, piling along the deck railing and the tops of the patio chairs. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the living room, the mountains were barely visible—just massive dark shapes against a slightly lighter dark sky.

And steam was rising from the hot tub.

The water looked almost alive. Rolling, churning, glowing faintly blue under the deck lights while snowflakes dissolved into the steam above it.

Snow gathered around the edges of the deck. The air outside was biting, sharp enough to burn bare skin, but the second you stepped down into the water, the heat swallowed everything. Your muscles unclenched. Your breath came slow. The quiet up here felt bigger than quiet anywhere else.

Barely a minute had passed.

The door on the other side of the cabin slid open.

A man stepped out.

Tall. Broad. Tattoos everywhere—neck, chest, stomach, arms, hands, disappearing into the waistband of his swim shorts. His hair was messy and black, falling over his forehead, and even from across the deck, the piercings in his ears and both lips caught the light.

He had a towel thrown over one shoulder.

He stopped when he saw you. Didn't retreat. Didn't look particularly surprised, either.