Morning settled against the inn.
Snow fell thicker than the day before. The road beyond had lost its edges, leaving only a pale stretch that shifted with the wind.
The lantern post stood where it always did, dim beyond the glass.
Inside, the hearth held.
Boro stirred the pot in slow, steady circles.
Two travellers sat close to the heat, their voices low enough not to carry.
Behind the counter, Ruan stood with a small ledger open. His finger moved once along the page.
He made a mark.
From somewhere within the room, a voice continued speaking. Even, unhurried. Not meant for anyone. The faint static beneath it came and went, like breath.
The fire gave a quiet shift.
***
The room shifted without notice.
More bowls had been set out. Steam rose between them, thin and steady as they ate.
Boro moved between the tables, carrying what he could manage, setting each piece down with care before returning for the next.
"Hot," one of the travellers said as Boro set the bowl down.
"S-sorry," Boro said quickly.
"It's fine," the man replied, already reaching for the spoon.
Behind the counter, the ledger lay closed.
Ruan's hand rested beside it, his thumb pressing lightly against the edge of the page.
After a moment, he lifted his gaze.
A chair scraped lightly across the floor.
Someone laughed, briefly.
The other shook his head.
"Too early," he said.
The words faded quickly.
Near the window, something stood.
Not close to the glass. Farther, where the snow gathered beneath the bare branches of a roadside tree.
The wind shifted.
Snow brushed once across the pane, then slipped away.
Ruan stepped away from the counter.
He crossed the room and stopped at the window.
The shape remained.
For a moment, it seemed nearer. Or perhaps the light had changed.
Ruan stood a moment longer.
Then he turned away.
He crouched near the hearth, setting the iron tool into the ash, drawing aside what had burned through from what still held shape. A small adjustment. Enough to let the next pieces catch.
One of the travellers rose first, pulling their coat tighter as they turned toward the stairs.
Their steps faded along the corridor above.
Another followed not long after.
The room quieted.
Ruan stepped back toward the hearth and refilled the kettle.
The water settled with a low sound as he set it over the fire.
"Tea?" he said.
Boro glanced up from the basin, hands still in the water.
"G-good… idea, M-Master."
He rinsed the last bowl, set it aside, and dried his hands.
"C-cheese… goes with it."
"We have some," Ruan said. "On the shelf."
Boro nodded and moved toward the back.
The kettle had just begun to stir when—
A bell sounded.
Soft, but close.
Ruan's gaze shifted toward the window.
The man passed across it, his shape clearer now against the pale window. He moved slowly, stopping at the door.
The fire cracked softly.
The door did not open.
The wind pressed once against the wood, then eased.
Ruan poured the tea. Steam rose between the cups, thin and close to the surface. He set one across from himself without comment.
Boro returned with the cheese, unwrapping it carefully before sitting at the edge of the table.
For a while, neither spoke.
Ruan lifted his cup, then set it down.
Boro broke off a piece of cheese, slower than usual.
"M-Moss…" he said quietly. "H-he hasn't… come out."
"He has his storage," Ruan said.
Boro nodded.
***
The wind returned, leaning into the door before slipping away.
Ruan's gaze shifted once.
Then he stood.
He crossed the room without hurry. The latch lifted.
When the door opened, the cold came in first.
Snow swept lightly across the threshold.
The man stood just beyond.
"Storming," Ruan said.
"Cold," the man replied. "Close enough."
"Close?"
A pause.
The bell at his side gave a faint sound, though he had not moved.
"Never mind…"
The wind shifted between them.
"You wouldn't understand."
The man's gaze settled on Ruan.
"You're just an innkeeper. Happened to be strong."
Ruan considered that.
"Fair," he said.
The man did not answer.
Snow rested along his shoulders.
Ruan closed the door.
The latch settled.
Inside, the warmth returned to its shape.
"S-someone?" Boro asked.
"It seems," Ruan said.
Ruan turned toward the kitchen.
He took another cup.
Boro's gaze followed him, hesitating a moment before returning to the table.
Behind them, the door opened.
Cold slipped along the floor.
The man stepped inside.
Snow fell from his shoulders, scattering across the floorboards. A faint bell sounded as he moved, soft against the weight of his cloak.
"A room," he said.
Boro straightened. "H-hello… y-yes. A room…"
Ruan had already set the cup on the table and poured.
"Tea?" Boro asked.
The man's gaze moved across the room.
The hearth. The table. The steam.
He sat.
Snow slid from his coat, melting where it fell.
"Strange," he said.
"Y-yes?" Boro asked.
Ruan crossed behind them, opened the drawer, and took a key.
He returned and placed it beside the cup.
"Upstairs. End of the corridor. Window side."
The man looked at it.
Then took it.
Boro nudged the cheese slightly forward, as if that might help.
The man did not touch it.
The wind outside deepened, pressing steadily against the walls. Inside, the fire answered in small, measured sounds.
Ruan reached toward the small receiver near the counter. A soft click.
A low voice filled the room, edged with static.
"—visibility reduced along—road—"
"—snowfall—sky remains dark—"
The words drifted without direction, settling into the space.
The tea was finished.
The man remained seated.
His gaze moved once across the room.
Then again.
Not searching.
Not settling, either
He stood.
"—conditions—worsen—"
The chair shifted softly back into place.
Without a word, he turned toward the stairs.
His steps faded as he climbed.
Ruan watched only until the sound disappeared.
Then he turned back.
A sheet hung near the hearth, damp at the edges. He adjusted it slightly, drawing it closer to the warmth.
Beyond the window, the road had disappeared completely beneath the snow.
For a moment, the wind cleared.
A thin column of smoke rose from Moss's cottage.
Then the snow passed through it again.