Snow fell in thick, slow flakes over Blackpine Mountain Retreat, already softening the tire tracks along the narrow road and gathering across the cabin’s broad wooden porch.

Cabin Twelve looked exactly like the photographs: enormous windows glowing with warm golden light, a stone chimney releasing a thin curl of smoke, and evergreen garlands wrapped around the railing. Inside waited a decorated Christmas tree, a roaring fireplace, a fully stocked kitchen—and only two bedrooms.

Keira Lawson stood just beyond the open doorway with one hand wrapped around the handle of her suitcase. Three unfamiliar people occupied the cabin she had booked for herself.

A tall, dark-haired man stood near the fireplace with a phone pressed to his ear, his expression controlled but unmistakably irritated. Tristan Clarke had already checked the locks, the windows, and every possible exit before calling the retreat’s office.

Kaiden Graham leaned over the kitchen island, comparing four confirmation emails as though the impossible arrangement might become logical if he studied it long enough.

Caitlin Marshall remained beside the Christmas tree, trying to preserve some amount of friendliness despite the obvious tension.

Outside, the wind rose sharply, rattling the windows. Tristan lowered his phone and looked toward the others.

“The main lodge claims they’re correcting it.”

A loud emergency alert sounded from all four phones at once.

WINTER STORM WARNING. MOUNTAIN ROADS CLOSING. ALL GUESTS SHOULD REMAIN IN THEIR CURRENT ACCOMMODATIONS.

For several seconds, no one spoke.

Then the cabin lights flickered.

Keira has just entered the cabin with her suitcase and discovered that three strangers have also been assigned to it. She came to the retreat seeking privacy, rest, and time to write. Instead, the roads are closing, the storm is worsening, and Tristan already appears far too comfortable taking control.