The cabin looked abandoned from the outside.

One broken window.

Half-collapsed chimney.

Snow piled thickly against warped wooden walls deep enough in the forest that nobody had bothered clearing the path in years.

Perfect hiding place.

Which usually meant terrible living conditions.

Seraphina could barely feel her hands by the time Lucien forced the swollen door open.

The freezing lake water had soaked through every layer she wore, turning movement stiff and painful while cold settled deeper beneath her skin with every passing minute.

Lucien caught her elbow as she stumbled over the threshold.

“I’m fine.”

“You nearly drowned.”

“I said nearly.”

“You’re shivering hard enough to break your teeth.”

That part, unfortunately, was accurate.

The cabin interior smelled like old smoke, pine dust, and long-unused furniture. Moonlight filtered through cracked wooden shutters while Lucien moved through the darkness with irritating confidence, checking rooms quickly before returning to the main living area.

“No recent occupants,” he said.

Seraphina leaned heavily against the wall while trying unsuccessfully to stop shaking.

Her wet hair clung cold against the side of her throat.

Everything hurt.

The freezing lake had drained strength from her muscles so completely that even unclipping the holster from beneath her coat suddenly felt exhausting.

Lucien noticed immediately.

Without a word, he crossed the room and knelt in front of the dead fireplace.

“You still know how to make a fire?” she asked weakly.

“I was alive before central heating became a personality trait.”

Despite herself, she laughed once.

Small.

Breathless.

Lucien glanced briefly over one shoulder at the sound.

And for one strange second, something in his expression softened with visible relief.

Like hearing her laugh mattered more than it should have.

The realization lingered unpleasantly in her chest afterward.

He worked quickly.

Dry wood from a storage crate.

Old newspaper.

A silver lighter pulled from inside his coat.

Within minutes, flames crackled low through the fireplace, pushing warmth slowly back into the frozen cabin air.

Seraphina tried removing her soaked gloves and failed twice because her fingers wouldn’t cooperate properly.

Lucien reached for them without comment.

She should have protested.

Instead she stood there silently while he pulled the gloves free carefully one finger at a time.

His hands were cold against hers.

Not freezing anymore.

Just absent of warmth.

Dead warmth.

The distinction felt worse somehow.

Lucien looked down briefly at her pale hands before speaking.

“You need to get out of the wet clothes.”

Seraphina blinked.

“That sounded medically aggressive.”

“That’s because hypothermia is aggressive.”

Fair.

Unfortunately.

Lucien stood and crossed toward one of the old storage cabinets near the wall. After a few moments of searching, he returned holding several wool blankets and what looked like an ancient oversized flannel shirt probably abandoned by some hunter decades earlier.

Seraphina stared at it.

“You found lumberjack clothing.”

“I contain multitudes.”

She took the shirt reluctantly.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“You almost drowned.”

“That’s not a denial.”

A faint smile appeared briefly at the corner of his mouth before disappearing again.

There.

Again.

That tiny shift every time she stopped sounding afraid around him.

Lucien turned toward the opposite side of the room afterward, giving her privacy without needing to ask.

The gesture should not have affected her.

But it did.

Because predators did not usually offer vulnerability room to breathe.

Seraphina peeled off the soaked dress and undershirt with stiff fingers while firelight flickered softly across the cabin walls. Her shoulder still throbbed where the bite wound reopened beneath freezing water, though now the skin surrounding it looked disturbingly dark.

Not infected.

Changing.

She quickly pulled the oversized flannel over her head before Lucien turned back around.

Too late.

Of course.

His eyes landed briefly on the exposed skin near her shoulder where blackened veins spread faintly beneath pale flesh.

The expression on his face changed instantly.

“What is that?”

Seraphina tugged the collar higher automatically.

“Nothing.”

“That’s a terrible lie.”

“I’m cold and exhausted. Lower your standards.”

Lucien crossed the room immediately.

Not slowly this time.

Urgently.

Before she could step back, his hand closed carefully around her wrist.

Cold fingers.

Steady grip.

“Show me.”

“No.”

“Seraphina.”

Something in his voice made her look up.

Fear.

Actual fear.

Not for himself.

For her.

That realization struck harder than it should have.

Slowly, reluctantly, she lowered the shirt collar enough for him to see the wound properly.

The room went very quiet afterward.

Fire cracked softly nearby while snow tapped against the cabin roof overhead.

Lucien stared at the dark veins spreading beneath her skin with an expression she had never seen on him before.

Not hunger.

Not anger.

Guilt.

“How long has it looked like this?”

“A few hours.”

“You should’ve told me.”

“You’re already impossible when worried.”

The joke failed completely.

Lucien’s jaw tightened visibly.

“This isn’t funny.”

“I know.”

He released her wrist carefully before crouching near the fireplace again, one hand pressed against his mouth in thought.

Seraphina watched him quietly.

Even now—even terrified—he moved with restraint.

Controlled panic.

The kind learned by people who survived too many emergencies to afford visible breakdowns anymore.

“You think it’s spreading,” she said softly.

Lucien looked into the fire for several seconds before answering.

“I think the creatures are changing faster than expected.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“No.”

Silence settled again.

Outside, wind moved heavily through frozen trees surrounding the cabin while snow continued falling hard enough to erase their tracks by morning.

Trapped.

The thought should have unsettled her more.

Instead, exhaustion pressed too heavily against her bones to leave room for panic anymore.

Lucien eventually stood and handed her one of the blankets.

“You need sleep.”

“So do you.”

“I don’t really sleep.”

“That sounds miserable.”

“It’s efficient.”

Seraphina settled carefully near the fireplace, wrapping the blanket tighter around herself while trying unsuccessfully to stop shivering.

The cabin still felt freezing despite the fire.

Lucien noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

He noticed everything.

After several moments, he spoke without looking directly at her.

“Your body temperature’s still dropping.”

“I’ll survive.”

“That confidence feels statistically unsupported.”

Too tired to argue properly, Seraphina closed her eyes briefly.

A few seconds later, she felt movement beside her.

Lucien sat down against the opposite side of the fireplace stone, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed hers beneath the blankets.

She opened one eye.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re losing heat.”

“You are literally cold.”

“Yes,” he said calmly. “But the blankets aren’t.”

She stared at him for a moment.

Then, despite every survival instinct screaming otherwise, she shifted slightly closer beneath the heavy wool blankets anyway.

The fire crackled softly between them.

Lucien remained perfectly still afterward.

Careful again.

Always careful when touching her.

Seraphina hated how much she noticed that now.

Their shoulders brushed lightly beneath layered blankets while wind rattled the cabin windows.

And God—

he really was cold.

Not unpleasantly.

Just impossibly different from human warmth.

Like standing too close to winter itself.

“You’re thinking loudly again,” Lucien murmured after a while.

“You keep saying that.”

“You keep doing it.”

She looked sideways toward him.

Firelight softened the sharp lines of his face enough to make him appear almost peaceful for once. Exhaustion lingered visibly beneath his eyes now that neither of them had energy left for pretending otherwise.

“You jumped into freezing water after me,” she said quietly.

Lucien kept his gaze on the fire.

“Yes.”

“You could’ve died.”

That finally made him glance toward her.

“No,” he said softly.

The answer should have comforted her.

Instead, it hurt unexpectedly.

Because she suddenly realized how long he must have lived carrying the certainty that his own survival mattered less than everyone else’s.

The thought sat heavily between them afterward.

Outside, snow continued falling through the forest in thick white silence.

Inside the cabin, the fire burned lower while exhaustion slowly dragged at Seraphina’s consciousness.

Lucien remained awake beside her long after her breathing started evening out.

One arm resting loosely across the blanket near her shoulder.

Close enough to catch her if the fever worsened.

Far enough not to frighten her awake.

And sometime near dawn—

without fully meaning to—

Seraphina drifted closer in her sleep until her forehead rested lightly against the cold fabric of his shoulder.