The blizzard erased the world. Streets, signs, even the horizon disappeared. All that existed was Ella, her sled, and the relentless wind.
Then she saw something half-buried in the snow. A massive, leather-clad figure. Motionless. A crashed motorcycle lay nearby.
Her heart pounded. Fear gripped her chest. Dead people meant police. Police meant being sent back. Back to the place she’d escaped.
She froze. Her survival instincts screamed: keep walking, don’t get involved.
But a tiny twitch of a finger—a single, desperate movement—stopped her in her tracks.
“No… please don’t be alive,” she whispered, voice breaking in the wind.
If he was alive, leaving him would feel wrong. If she stayed, the storm could kill them both.
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