Page 16 of What Remains

She made a quick slicing gesture across the air.

Addy slapped both hands over her ears. “NO, THANK YOU. I always avoided that growing up on the ranch, and I’m not about to start here. Just bring them to me ready to cook. I’ll handle that part.”

Jay snorted into his coffee. Sawyer laughed—a rare sound that made everyone glance at him.

Addy lowered her hands and leveled a finger at all of them in turn. “Fine. Fine. I’ll learn. Since apparently my future involves murdering roosters. But I’m drawing the line right here, right now—nobody names any of those babies something cute. No Nugget. No Mr. Fluff. No Sir Pecks-A-Lot. I mean it.”

Cara blinked slowly, guilt creeping across her face. “But… I already named one Sunshine.”

Addy flopped backward onto the rug with a groan. “Well, now I have to kill Sunshine someday. Awesome. Amazing. Perfect. Thank you all so much.”

Sawyer’s grin softened as he watched her. He nudged her knee gently with his boot. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, love.”

She peeked up at him, her cheeks warming at the endearment. “I know. But I want to help. Chickens are food and eggs and… well, life now. So I’ll learn. Under protest, but I’ll learn.”

Jay raised his mug in a solemn toast. “To Addy. Future chicken assassin.”

Addy groaned louder. “No. Absolutely not. Veto.”

Seth grinned—a real one, for once. “Too late. It’s canon.”

Even Watch barked from under the table, his tail thumping against the floorboards as if casting his vote.

Laughter filled the cabin, warm and fighting against the frozen world outside.

For a little while, even the looming shadow of the spring run seemed smaller.

Later, the cabin went quiet. Tonight belonged to Seth; every fourth night on watch did.

He tossed two more logs on the fire, the familiar thud a small comfort. He checked the doors, then the windows. He picked up a book from Jay’s shelf, hoping the words might hold him steady until dawn. Routine. Predictable. It was supposed to feel safe.

But tonight, the quiet carried different edges.

Outside, the wind pressed drifts of snow against the cabin walls. Inside, the fire popped now and then, throwing warm orange light across the room. Everyone else slept. Even Watch snored under the kitchen table, paws twitching as he chased some dream rabbit through fields.

It should have been peaceful.

Instead, the silence pressed in, picking at the memories he’d tried to keep at bay.

He tried to read, but the words blurred and slid off the page. He stoked the fire. He field-stripped the rifle for the third time this week. Paced a slow path around the room. None of it helped.

Molly.

The name surfaced without permission.

He dropped into the rocking chair by the hearth and let out a long breath.

His mind drifted backward, to the day Molly told him she was pregnant.

He could see it as clearly as the fire in front of him.

She’d been standing in their tiny kitchen, her hair pulled up in a messy bun, wearing one of his old shirts that hung halfway down her thighs. Late winter sun poured through the window behind her, lighting her up like something the universe had made on purpose and wanted him to notice.

She’d been nervous—God, he remembered that part vividly. Rocking on her heels, twisting her fingers together the way she only did when something big was bothering her.

“Seth?” she’d said, her voice catching.

He’d assumed she’d burned something on the stove.