Years passed, and their bond deepened. But one spring morning, a plain envelope arrived at the cabin.
Liam opened it on the porch. Inside, written in precise blue ink, was a single line:
“They are ours, and we are coming for them.”
Harold’s hands trembled. Eighteen years of peace, of love quietly nurtured, fractured in an instant. Who were “they”? Why now? The past Harold had tried to bury beneath snow and silence had returned—relentless and cold. He stared out at the glittering lake and whispered, “I feared this day would come.”
