The thought should have made her anxious. Instead, she felt something dangerously close to relief.
The storm had stopped howling, but the mountain wasn’t done testing them.
By late afternoon, the lodge lights began to flicker—just small stutters at first, the kind that make you look up and tell yourself it’s nothing. Then, around the fifth flicker, the lamps went out completely.
For a few seconds, there was only silence and the faint, uncertain rustle of voices rising in the dark. Then the emergency lights kicked in—low amber bulbs glowing along the baseboards and stair rails.
Nia set down her half-finished cup of tea and stood, every instinct in her body sliding toward command mode. “Where’s Mr. Ellis?”
The front desk clerk appeared from behind the counter with a flashlight that was more decorative than useful. “He’s trying to get the generator to hold. The pipes in the back wing are half frozen again. Half the staff couldn’t make it through the drifts today.”
Of course they couldn’t. The storm had buried the parking lot in three feet of snow; no one was getting anywhere soon.
Soren came striding in from the side corridor, a tool belt slung low on her hips and snow dusting her jacket. Her hair was damp from the weather, cheeks flushed with cold, and even in the dim light she looked irritatingly calm.
“Power’s cycling,” she said, scanning the ceiling. “Backup’s struggling to keep up with the heaters. We need to close off some rooms or it’s gonna trip again.”
“Close off?” Nia echoed.
“Pick the unoccupied ones, shut the vents, move anyone frail closer to the fireplaces.” She gave her a quick grin. “You up for field triage, Doc?”
Nia’s mouth opened—then shut again. This wasn’t a surgical crisis, but it wassomethingshe could help control. “Tell me what you need.”
Soren’s grin widened. “Blankets and bodies near the fire. Come on.”
They worked side by side through the corridors. The old lodge creaked with each gust of wind, candles flickering in the staff’s hurried hands. Nia carried stacks of quilts from the storage closet while Soren knelt to relight the hearths. The smell of smoke and pine filled the halls.
At first, Nia felt absurd—this wasn’t her element. She was used to sterile light, stainless steel, precision. Not cracked stone fireplaces and flickering shadows. But when she saw an elderly couple shivering near their window, something shifted. She knelt, wrapped them in thick wool blankets, and checked their pulses automatically. “You’ll be fine,” she said softly. “Just keep close together.”
The woman smiled at her through the candlelight. “You sound like a doctor.”
Nia hesitated, then nodded. “I am.”
“Then we’re in good hands, dear.”
The simple trust in the woman’s voice hit her harder than she expected. For the first time since arriving, she feltuseful.Not powerful, not perfect—just human and needed.
When she straightened, Soren was watching from the doorway, a bundle of firewood balanced on one shoulder. Her eyes caught the candlelight—dark, warm, unreadable.
“Look at you,” she said quietly. “Fixing people without a scalpel.”
Nia rolled her eyes, though her pulse jumped. “Don’t romanticize it. I’m just handing out blankets.”
“Sure,” Soren said. “But you make it look like mercy.”
Nia busied herself, unwilling to unpack that. But she couldn’t ignore the way Soren moved through the room—efficient, sure, calm under pressure. When one of the heaters sputtered, shewas already there, hands sure on the valves, coaxing it back to life.
For once, Nia wasn’t the one holding everything together. And strangely, that didn’t feel like failure.
By the time they reached the lobby, warmth was returning to the air and laughter was starting to replace worry. Soren tossed her gloves onto the counter, flexing her hands. “Crisis averted.”
“For now,” Nia said, brushing a strand of hair back from her face.
Soren’s grin was quick and quiet. “You did good, Doc.”
“I handed out blankets.”
“Yeah,” Soren said softly. “And made half the guests fall in love with you.”
