“I’ll get them,” Lana said, rising from her chair. “You should stay off that leg.”
I started to protest, but stopped myself. She was right, and my stubborn pride wasn’t worth the setback. “Thanks,” I said instead, leaning back in my chair.
As she moved toward the closet, the lights flickered again, then went out completely. The house was plunged into darkness, save for the orange glow from the fireplace in the living room.
“Well, that didn’t take long,” her voice came from somewhere to my left.
“Hold on,” I said, pulling out my phone to activate the flashlight. The beam cut through the darkness, illuminating her face. She looked different in this light—softer somehow, her features cast in gentle shadows.
A loud thud from the front porch made us both freeze. Scout was immediately alert, on his feet, and growling toward the door.
“What the hell was that?” Lana whispered, moving closer to me.
I reached for my gun, the weight of it familiar and reassuring in my hand. “Stay here,” I said quietly, using the table to push myself upright.
“Caleb —”
“I’m fine.” I nodded toward the ammunition box. “Hide that, just in case.”
Moving as silently as possible, I made my way to the front window, staying to the side to avoid being silhouetted against the firelight. Outside, the storm raged, snow swirling in violent eddies. At first, I saw nothing unusual—just the white landscape and the shadows of trees bending in the wind.
Then I dropped my gaze to the porch steps.
I tensed, raising my gun slightly. There, on the bottom step, was a figure wearing a heavy coat with the hood pulled up, making it impossible to identify them in the darkness and swirling snow.
“Stay back,” I whispered to Lana, feeling her presence close behind me.
The figure reached out, grasping at the air. That’s when I noticed they were hunched over, moving with difficulty. Not threatening—injured, maybe, or exhausted.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice called out, barely audible over the howling wind. “Is anyone there? Please...”
I lowered my gun slightly but kept it ready. The voice didn’t sound like Margret’s—it was younger, more desperate.
“Who is it?” I called through the door.
“Please,” the voice came again, this time weaker. “I need help. My car... the storm...”
I glanced at Lana, who stood a few feet behind me, her face illuminated by the faint glow from the fireplace. Scout had moved to her side, still alert but no longer growling.
“Could be a trap,” I murmured.
Lana bit her lip, then nodded toward the window. “Look at how she’s huddled there. That’s not someone faking. That’s someone close to freezing to death.”
I peered out again. The figure had now collapsed onto the bottom porch step, head bowed against the relentless snow. My instincts warred with each other—the trained operative in me screaming caution, while something else, something I thought I’d buried long ago, urged compassion.
“Cover me,” I said, handing Lana my phone with its flashlight still on. “If anything seems off, you slam this door shut, understand?”
She nodded, taking the phone and positioning herself where she could see past me once the door opened.
Pain shot through my leg as I unlocked the door and pulled it open. The wind immediately rushed in, carrying snow and bitter cold. I squinted against it, keeping my weight on my good leg.
“Hey!” I called out. “Are you okay?”
The figure on the steps slowly lifted her head. The hood fell back slightly, revealing the face of a young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties. Her lips were blue with cold, her cheeks red and raw from the wind. She didn’t look dangerous—she looked half-dead.
“My car...” she managed, her teeth chattering violently. “Slid off... the road. Phone... dead.”
“Shit,” I muttered, holstering my weapon. This wasn’t a threat; it was an emergency. “Lana, help me get her inside.”
