PART 2: The Cabin Where the Storm Waits
The fire snapped sharply, sending sparks into the cold air between them.
Elias Crowe didn’t lower the rifle fully—but it wasn’t aimed as tightly now.
His daughter still rested against Margaret’s chest, calm in a way that didn’t make sense in a world like this.
“Put her down,” Elias said quietly.
Margaret didn’t move.
“She’ll wake up hungry again,” she answered softly.
That stopped him for half a second.
The baby shifted slightly, letting out a small sound—not a cry, just a sleepy breath. Margaret instinctively adjusted her hold, steadying her against the cold draft slipping through the logs.
Elias noticed something else then.
The way Margaret’s hands shook wasn’t from fear of him.
It was exhaustion.
Deep, long, survival-kind exhaustion.
“Where did you come from?” he asked.
Margaret hesitated.
“Nowhere that matters anymore.”
Silence filled the cabin again.
Outside, the storm slammed harder, as if testing the walls.
Elias finally stepped closer, slow and cautious, until he could see the baby clearly from just a few feet away.
Alive.
Warm.
Safe.
That fact alone made his jaw tighten.
“She hasn’t slept like that in days,” he muttered.
Margaret nodded faintly. “Because she was alone.”
The word hit harder than the wind.
Elias’s grip on the rifle loosened slightly.
Then—
A sharp knock came from the cabin door.
Once.
Then again.
Not wind.
Not wood settling.
Knocking.
Elias turned instantly, rifle snapping back up.
Margaret froze.
The baby stayed asleep.
Another knock followed—closer this time, like whoever was outside already knew they were being watched.
A voice called through the storm.
“Crowe… open the door.”
Elias went still.
Because that voice—
Was supposed to be dead.
Our Facebook Group
Join Our Group
