The snowstorm trapped them inside the inn for two days.
Outside, the world was white silence. Inside, it was something else entirely—an unbearable mix of tension, secrets, and the weight of truths not yet spoken.
Aria sat at the window, watching flakes blur the horizon. Somewhere out there, the people who wanted her dead—or worse—were closing in.
"I don't trust her," she said quietly.
Xander was seated behind her, nursing a stitched wound on his side. "Amara?"
Aria nodded. "She's hiding something. She always has."
"She saved us."
"Doesn't mean she's not using us."
Xander didn't argue.
Instead, he stood and walked to her, his shadow falling across the frost-coated glass. For a moment, they just watched the snowfall together.
Then he spoke, voice low. "You remember the first time I met you?"
Aria blinked. "Barely."
"I was seventeen. You were fifteen. You threw a book at my head because I said you couldn't climb the north wall."
She laughed, a real one. "You said it like a dare."
"It was a dare." He smiled faintly. "You scared the hell out of me."
Aria turned to face him. "And now?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then, gently, "Now you scare me for a different reason."
Her breath caught.
But before she could ask what he meant, the sound of glass shattering echoed from downstairs.
Both of them jumped to their feet.
Weapons drawn. Hearts racing.
"We're not alone," Xander said.