The cabin door slammed shut behind them.

Abigail collapsed into a chair near the fire, trembling as warmth slowly returned to her frozen hands. Across the room, the bearded man set down his lantern but kept the revolver close.

His name was Samuel Reed.

And he trusted storms more than strangers.

“You said you ran from hell,” Samuel said quietly. “What does that mean?”

Abigail stared into the flames.

Then her voice broke.

“They killed anyone who tried to leave.”

The room fell silent.

Before Samuel could ask another question, a sound echoed from outside.

Crunch.

A boot in the snow.

Then another.

Samuel’s eyes snapped toward the window.

Abigail went pale.

Fear flooded her face.

“They found me.”

The footsteps multiplied.

Three.

Four.

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Maybe more.

Dark shapes appeared through the swirling blizzard beyond the cabin walls.

Men.

Armed men.

Samuel slowly picked up his rifle from beside the fireplace.

Outside, the figures stopped.

One voice carried through the storm.

“Hand over the woman.”

The fire crackled softly.

Samuel looked at Abigail.

Then toward the door.

His expression turned cold as stone.

The rifle clicked as he chambered a round.

“Looks like,” he said calmly, “they came to the wrong cabin.”

Outside, the shadows began moving toward the porch.