Page 65 of Drowning in Darkness

Jake: Enjoy yourself. I’ll be fine.

Three dots appear almost instantly.

Daisy: You used punctuation. Are you dying? Blink three times if you need help.

I lock the screen without answering. Daisy has an irritating habit of recognizing changes in me before I’ve acknowledged them myself.

The shower starts. She’s about to discover the full bottle of fruity shampoo that is clearly not for me. I try very hard to ignore the small signs that I was preparing for her arrival. It might make sense if I’d bought these things in the last few days, but the truth is, they’ve been there for months. A therapist would have a field day with my mind before they condemned it as irreparable.

I carry my coffee into the study and glance across the security monitors, more out of routine than concern. Every camera reports exactly what it should. The perimeter remains clear. Motion sensors are quiet apart from a rabbit choosing violence against my vegetable patch.

The amber weather warning catches my attention. Snow is expected. Nothing significant yet, but enough that the first flakes have begun drifting across the nearest camera.

I back out of the study, stride through the kitchen, and head into the storage room, setting the mug down on one of the metal shelving units.

Supplies are piled onto the shelves, organized with military precision. Spare blankets. Flashlights. Medical supplies. Waterproofs. Thermals. Boots. Camp stove. Bottled water. A variety of canned goods that would survive a nuclear fallout. Toiletries to maintain basic hygiene. I’m good to go for a harsh winter should I get stuck here. I need to check that the snowmobile tank is full and that there’s enough wood for the burner.

The shower stops, and a few minutes later, footsteps echo along the hallway. Stephanie emerges wearing the gray sweats from yesterday, her hair still damp from the shower and hanging over one shoulder in loose waves. She scrubs at it with a towel while studying the windows.

“I think your weather is broken,” she announces. “White bits are falling out of the sky.”

“It’s called snow.”

“I’ve heard rumors of this so-called snow.”

I glance at her. “You’ve seen snow before.”

“Not proper snow.”

“There’s improper snow?”

“The decorative kind that lands on ski vacations while someone hands you expensive hot chocolate.”

“And this?”

She smiles. “This looks like the sort that traps people in cabins and gets them murdered in horror films.” She reaches for the front door.

“Don’t.”

Her hand freezes on the handle before she slowly turns to look at me. “I wasn’t escaping.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

“You were going outside dressed like that.”

She glances down at herself. “The snow is offended because I’m competing for the most bland color scheme ever?”

“You’re not wearing enough of them.”

“I appreciate your concern for my modesty.”

“My concern has nothing to do with modesty.”

She smiles, clearly pleased she’s dragged me into her banter. “I knew there was a gentleman buried under all that emotional constipation.”

I shift through the house, snatch my hoodie hanging over the dining chair, and nod at her. “Arms up.”