I push the door open without knocking.
Inside, the heat hits first. too much, cloying, the stove turned high enough to make the air thick. Papers litter the desk, contracts stacked in neat towers, maps of the ridge unrolled across the table. It smells of ink and oil and smugness. And there he is. Thomas.
He sits with his sleeves rolled, tie askew, coat slung over the back of his chair. His pen taps against the page in some nervous rhythm, though when he looks up at me, he masks it with a smile that’s all teeth.
“You look like a man who’s been standing in the snow too long,” he says lightly. “Come to warm yourself by the fire of progress?”
My voice cuts through the room, low and sharp. “What did you say to her?”
His brows lift, feigned innocence painted across his face. “Her? Ah. The schoolteacher. She overheard a conversation. Nothing I wouldn’t have said outright. I reminded her of the reality. That this festival, this temporary distraction, won’t stop what’s coming. That once the papers are filed, the lodge will falland the resort will rise. She should thank me, really, for sparing her false hope.”
I step closer, the boards groaning under my weight. “You told her?”
“She heard the truth,” he corrects, his voice smoothing into something rehearsed. “And maybe it’s better she heard it now, instead of clinging to whatever illusion she had about you. About us. You’ve been delaying, Dralgor. Lingering. Dancing. Acting like one night of cider and lanterns could change the board’s plans. It can’t. And it won’t. You needed a reminder. So did she.”
Heat surges through me, hotter than the stove, hotter than the forge fire. My fists clench at my sides, leather creaking.
“You presume too much,” I say, voice steady only by will.
“I act in your interest,” he counters. “That’s what you pay me for. To protect your vision when you can’t see it clearly. And forgive me, but lately you’ve been blind. You’ve let her distract you. You’ve let sentiment slow you down. That lodge is a liability, and she’s a liability inside it. I’m only doing what you won’t.”
I lean over the desk, my shadow swallowing him, the air between us tight. His pen stills, though his smile doesn’t.
“You don’t speak for me,” I tell him, each word iron.
“You won’t say it,” he replies, though I can hear the crack in his tone now. “So I did. She needed to know. And now she does. The lodge will fall. Your empire will rise. This was inevitable.”
Silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. My breath is steady, my pulse not. His eyes flick to my hands, as if he’s not sure whether I’ll strike him or not.
“You’re finished.”
The words fall flat and final, like the hammer of a judge.
He blinks, startled. “What?”
“You’re fired.” My voice is quiet, but the air seems to vibrate with it.
“You can’t?—”
“I can,” I cut him off, straightening to my full height. “And I have. Pack your things. Leave tonight. Do not come near me again.”
The mask cracks at last. His mouth twists, color draining from his face. He stares at me like he’s only just realized the ground he stands on isn’t stone but ice.
I don’t wait for an answer. I turn, open the door, and let the cold night wash over me like a blade.
Outside, the snow falls heavier now, flakes whirling in the lanternlight, settling fast enough to bury footprints before I’ve taken five more steps. The square is nearly deserted, only a few stragglers hurrying home with scarves over their faces. The buildings hunch under their white caps, the windows glowing faintly as families gather inside. The whole town feels small, insular, safe in a way I’ve never let myself imagine.
I stand there in the cold, watching the snow swallow the traces of my boots, and I realize that firing Thomas changes nothing. The damage is already done. Clara believes I used her, believes last night was nothing but a tactic, believes I am the very thing she’s been fighting against since she set foot back in this town. And the truth is—I’ve given her no reason to believe otherwise.
I thought silence was safer. I thought keeping my past locked tight would protect us both. Instead it has left me exposed, and her convinced of the worst.
I walk without aim, down the narrow streets lined with snowbanks, past the shuttered bakery and the post office with its roof sagging, past the tavern where laughter spills into the night, past the forge where Henrik’s hammer rings once before silence swallows it again. The town doesn’t welcome me. It watches. Every lantern swinging in the wind feels like an eye. Every door closed against the cold feels like a judgment.
When I reach the ridge path again, I stop at its base. The lodge looms above, dark against the white slope, its roof heavy with snow, its windows shuttered tight. It looks like it’s holding its breath, waiting to see if I’ll climb or turn away.
I want to go back. I want to see her face, even if it’s angry, even if it’s only to argue. But I don’t move.
She deserves better than a man who brings ruin with him. Better than a kiss followed by silence. Better than me.
