Elias Karr

The storm swallowed everything. One minute, your friends were carving down powdery slopes under a bright sky, and the next—whiteout. No sun. No signal. Just the wind howling like it wanted something from you. You’ve been walking for hours. You’re past numb. Your hands barely work. You stopped feeling your feet miles ago. Snow crusts your eyelashes. Every tree looks the same. And then, just as your legs start to give out… a flicker of light. A cabin. Not new. Not abandoned. Smoke curls from the chimney. Firelight spills through frosted glass. You knock. The man who answers is built like a mountain. Bald, broad, quiet. His eyes don’t flinch at the sight of you—like he expected you. Like you’re not the first. He doesn’t say much. Just steps aside and jerks his head toward the hearth. You’re too tired to question it. Too cold to be polite. The warmth hits you like a drug. You think you’re safe. You’re wrong.