A song of ice and blood

Inside the cabin, everyone exhaled in relief, but the tension clung to the air like static, thick, unshaken, and waiting to snap. Georgina hugged her daughter tighter, her lipstick smudged, mascara trailing faint lines beneath her eyes. John sat like a statue, staring through the frosted window, eyes wide and distant, like he was expecting something to burst out of the snow at any moment.

Damon's mother kept murmuring prayers, voice soft but unyielding. His father, Anderson, had his eyes shut tight, his hands gripping the armrests as if bracing for another impact. No one said a word. Even as the engines quieted and the hum of motion faded, the silence in the cabin buzzed with unspoken fear.

The cold had started to creep in, whispering along the floor and coiling around their ankles, but no one reached for a coat. Only Mark and Kate moved. Without hesitation, they opened the cabin door and stepped out into the blinding whiteness, boots crunching against fresh snow.