Nia rolled her eyes, but didn’t move away when their knees brushed under the blanket. The warmth between them was steady, unhurried.
Soren glanced sideways. “See? Not so bad when you stop moving.”
Nia managed a small smile. “Maybe not.”
The firelight painted gold on her skin, and when Soren’s hand brushed hers beneath the blanket, she didn’t pull away. For the first time since the storm began, the world outside didn’t feel like a trap.
It felt—just for this heartbeat—like safety.
8
SOREN
The first warning was the flicker. One, then two dips of light—and then darkness swallowed the lodge whole.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the wind moaning through the eaves and the soft gasp of a few guests in the hallway. Then someone’s phone flashlight clicked on, bouncing pale light against the wooden walls.
“Generator finally gave up,” Soren muttered. She was already at the fuse panel by the front desk, hand running along cold metal, though she knew it wouldn’t help. The storm had worn the system down all day. “She’s done for the night.”
Mr. Ellis appeared from behind the counter, wrapped in a thick sweater and looking ten years older than he had that morning. “I’ll check on the backup unit,” he said, though his tone lacked conviction. “Might have to wait till morning to get her running again.”
“Don’t bother going out there,” Soren said, closing the panel. “It’s a whiteout. You won’t see your own boots.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “You always know what to do, Stevenson. You’ll make sure everyone’s alright?”
Soren gave him a half-smile. “I’ll do my best.”
By the time he shuffled off toward the kitchen, the last scraps of light came from the few fireplaces they’d kept burning and the red glow of emergency lamps along the corridor floor. The air already felt colder.
Soren found a bundle of candles in the supply closet, tucking a lighter into her pocket. She lit one as she walked, the flame bobbing gently, and followed the sound of voices to the lounge.
The fire there was still burning, a low amber glow painting the ceiling in slow waves. And in front of it, sitting cross-legged on the hearth rug, was Nia.
The light caught her hair and made it shine like dark silk. She’d wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, her face turned toward the flames, profile soft but distant. She didn’t look up right away when Soren entered—just held her hands out toward the warmth like someone lost in thought.
“Guess the generator quit,” Soren said quietly.
“I noticed,” Nia murmured, glancing up. Her green eyes reflected the firelight, sharp and gold at the edges. “It’s fine. I don’t mind the quiet.”
Soren set one of the candles on the table beside her and knelt to light it. The tiny flame steadied, throwing more light across Nia’s face. “You’re the only guest who’s said that all day.”
“I’ve had worse nights.”
“Hospital?”
She nodded, gaze back on the fire. “Emergency generators, power failures, people panicking. This is practically a vacation.”
Soren chuckled. “Didn’t think you were the vacation type.”
“I’m not,” Nia said, but the edge in her tone softened. “Maybe that’s the problem.”
Soren leaned back on her heels, watching her for a moment. The doctor looked so different in this light—hair loose, shadows softening the precision of her features. She wasn’t theunflappable surgeon from Phoenix Ridge. She was just a woman, tired and beautiful, trying to forget how to be perfect.
“You should stay by the fire,” Soren said gently. “The rooms will cool fast.”
Nia gave a small smile. “And you?”
“I’ll check the other wings, make sure no one froze in their sleep. Then I’ll come back.”
