Snowed In With You.

Not Alone.

(Jackie’s POV)

I hated crying in front of people.
But the pain was so sharp it felt like someone had driven a nail straight through my ankle, and the tears came before I could stop them.

Chris knelt in front of me, gently pulling my sock off. “I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “Just let me see it so I can help.”

I bit my lip hard, trying to breathe through the ache. The skin around my ankle was already swelling and turning red.

“It’s okay,” he said again, softer this time. “You can cry. No one’s judging you here.”

That made my chest tighten for a completely different reason.

He grabbed the first-aid kit from the kitchen, wrapping an elastic bandage around my ankle with slow, careful movements. His hands were warm, steady, and… gentle in a way I wasn’t used to.

“Better?” he asked once it was secure.

“A little,” I admitted, wiping at my eyes.

He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes — like he was still worried about me. “I’ll get you some water and painkillers, okay?”

I nodded.

He got up, moving toward the kitchen — and that’s when it happened.

A thump.

Outside. Near the porch.

We both froze.

It wasn’t the wind. The sound was too deliberate.

Chris’s eyes flicked to me, then to the front window.

Another noise — this time, the crunch of footsteps on snow.

My stomach dropped. The killer in the mountains. The warning on Chris’s phone.

I gripped the blanket tighter around me, my pulse hammering. “Chris…”

“Shh,” he whispered, his gaze locked on the window as he moved closer to it.

The glass reflected only the faint flicker of the fire, but beyond that — movement. A shadow shifting just beyond the porch steps.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. “What do we do?”

He turned to me, jaw tight. “We keep quiet. And we don’t open that door. For anything.”