I held my breath, the air cold and sharp in my throat.

The headlights suddenly swung away, sweeping across the snow-covered pine trees outside.

The sound of the engine faded as the car backed out of the narrow gravel driveway.

“A pickup,” Adrian said, his shoulder dropping slightly.

“Probably someone looking for the main road in the blizzard.”

He did not put the gun away.

He let his arm hang by his side, the metal gleaming in the dim light of the oil lantern.

“We aren’t safe here,” I said.

“We are safe until morning,” he replied.

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s my job to make sure we are.”

“No,” I said, stepping closer to him. “It’s your job to make yourself feel like a god.”

He turned his head away, looking at the dead iron stove.

“You think I want this, Claire?”

“I think you prefer a wall of lies to the truth.”

The wind rattled the loose glass in the windowpane.

A thin drift of snow had already gathered on the sill inside, white and dry as salt.