"He's not a bad guy," Andrei says quietly. "I know he’s gruff, but he's alright."
Then he's gone, jogging through the snow toward his truck, waving one last time before climbing in.
Katya is already in the passenger seat and gives me a small wave goodbye.
Standing in the doorway, I watch their taillights disappear down the mountain road as the wind bends the trees and whips snow across the driveway.
Behind me, I hear Nikolai's voice, still speaking in Russian. Then Dmitri and Alexei are leaving too, their SUV pulling away until I'm alone in the doorway.
Until there's nothing but the sound of the wind and the crunch of Nikolai's footsteps as he comes to stand beside me.
"Come inside," he says quietly. "Before you freeze."
I look up at him. Snowflakes are caught in his dark hair, melting against his skin. His blue eyes are softer than I've ever seen them.
"They're all gone," I say, unnecessarily.
"Yes."
"It's just us now."
"Yes."
The word hangs between us.
I step back inside, and he closes the door against the storm.
The lock clicks into place.
And we're alone.
19
HOLLY
The silence after they leave is deafening.
I stand in the great room, watching through the windows as the last taillights disappear down the mountain road, swallowed by the swirling white. The storm is building faster than I expected.
Behind me, I hear Nikolai moving through the lodge. The click of locks being checked.
A gust of wind slams against the lodge with enough force to rattle the windows in their frames, and I flinch. My hands curl into fists at my sides as I try to steady my breathing.
It's just a storm. You're safe. You're inside.
But my body doesn't believe the lie.
The wind howls again, louder this time, and the lights flicker. Once. Twice.
My heart lurches into my throat.
No. Please, no.
"The generator will kick in if we lose power," Nikolai says from somewhere behind me, his voice calm and steady. "We won't be left in the dark."
I nod but can't find my voice to respond. My eyes are fixed on the windows, on the way the snow is already piling against the glass.
Another gust hits and I hear something crack outside. A branch, maybe.
