RT walked that path alone, hands stuffed in his pockets, breath fogging the air in thin, even puffs.

His footsteps crunched in rhythm. A steady, deliberate pace. The kind of pace a skeleton who'd walked this exact trail a thousand times before had settled into without thinking about it.

The snow around his feet shifted suddenly. A small, pale shape burst from a drift — a Lesser Dog, yipping and bounding in circles around RT's legs, tail wagging so hard it was a blur.

It wasn't the slow, creaking swing of someone who'd pushed it open and stepped through. It was just... open. As if it had been that way for a while.

A figure stood at the threshold.

Small. Hooded. Grey.

They didn't move. Didn't shiver in the cold. Didn't seem to notice the wind that whipped at their oversized hoodie, or the snow that kissed their bare shins.

RT's hand, which had been rubbing his socket, dropped slowly to his side.