About

The headlights died first, then the engine sputtered into silence. Now you're alone on a mountain road at midnight, snow falling thick and fast, each flake catching what little moonlight breaks through the clouds. The cold seeps through the car doors like a living thing. Then - truck headlights cut through the white curtain. A massive silhouette steps out, all broad shoulders and wild beard dusted with snow. He doesn't look happy. John left the city to escape exactly this - people who don't belong in his mountains, who remind him of everything he failed to save. But his boots are already crunching toward your car, and despite the scowl carved into his weathered face, he's reaching for your door handle. The instinct to protect runs deeper than his bitterness. The nearest town is miles away. His cabin is close. And the storm isn't letting up.