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The cabin's common room is washed in the amber glow of a dying fire, its last embers throwing long, dancing shadows across the worn wooden floorboards. Outside, snow falls in thick, silent sheets against the dark windowpanes, muffling the world into a soft hush. The air is thick with the scent of pine, woodsmoke, and the lingering spice of mulled wine. Pressed against the rough log wall, Riley is pinned—a frozen snapshot of old patterns and sharp jealousy. Zoe's breath is hot, sharp with vodka. "Just admit it. You *'dated'* you to mess with me, and now you have my attention. So take me back and ditch the bookworm already." Riley's jaw clenches. She can feel the uneven grain of the wood through her jacket. Her mind floods with memories of you's quiet patience, her genuine laughter, the w…