Page 194 of Celestial Combat

Eventually, the road narrowed until it was barely a path between skeletal birch trees, their pale trunks ghostly against the snow. The SUV tires crunched over the packed ice, the sound sharp and final in the stillness. Then, just beyond a ridge, the cabin came into view – dark wood and black steel, all sharp linesand low shadows, half-buried in snow like something the forest had grown around.

Modern, but secretly secluded. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the front, reflecting the vast white of the frozen lake beyond. Smoke curled thin and silver from the chimney, dissolving into the dusk-blue sky.

Zane parked in silence. The engine clicked as it cooled, the only sound while we sat still for a moment. He looked over at me, but I was already opening the door.

The air hit like a slap – minus ten degrees Celsius and getting colder. I pulled my coat tighter around me as I stepped out. The crunch of my boots was loud, echoing in the nothingness. Even the wind had a reverent hush out here.

Zane grabbed the bags from the back without saying a word and carried them up to the cabin, his breath rising in clouds. I followed slowly, boots thudding on the stone entryway.

Inside, the polished wood floors glowed under the golden light of recessed sconces. Thick fur rugs were draped over leather chairs, and the fire crackled softly in a black iron stove that filled the room with a gentle, pulsing warmth. The birch forest pressed against the tall windows like a dreamscape. Everything was quiet. Safe. Too safe.

Zane dropped our bags near the fireplace. Snow still clung to the hem of his coat. His shoulders were tense, his jaw sharper than usual under the soft lighting.

“Kali,” he said, voice low. “Can we–”

“I’m cold,” I said, cutting him off. I wasn’t ready for the conversation I saw building in his eyes. “I just need a hot shower.”

He paused for a beat. “Alright.”

I didn’t wait for more. I took the open space stairs to the bedroom upstairs and headed into the bathroom.

When I opened the bathroom door, the bedroom was softly lit and warm.

A cup of tea sat on the nightstand, its sides still steaming. A ceramic one, deep blue with a little white heart. The scent hit me before I even reached for it – ginger and chamomile, the exact mix I always drank when I didn’t feel like myself.

By the bed, my bag was propped neatly.

I stood there for a moment, wrapped in my towel.

The tea burned a little as I took the first sip. Like something buried under all this snow was trying to grow again.

And despite everything, the small gesture warmed something inside me. Just enough to feel it again.

When I padded downstairs, the cabin was quiet, my feet brushing over the smooth grain of warm wood.

The heating system glowed softly with heat, the air rich with the scent of burning birch and something faintly sweet – maybe pine sap or the remnants of whatever he’d used to start the fire. The place had transformed since I first walked in, thawed out from its glassy cold edges. Blankets draped over the arms of leather chairs, soft shadows dancing on the ceiling. Still, no sign of him.

I heard the sharp, rhythmic, distant noise coming from outside. I moved toward the windows, past the tall panels of glass that faced the woods.

Outside, Zane stood among the trees, his silhouette cut against the snow, powerful and relentless. He was splitting logs in strong, punishing strokes, each swing of the axe clean and brutal.

His breath curled in the air, thick clouds of steam with every exhale. He wore a thermal shirt.

No gloves. No coat. No beanie.

I sighed, immediately pissed off. I knew he must’ve beenused to harsh climates, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t take care of himself.

Plus,he didn’t need to be doing this. The woodpile was already stacked knee-high inside the cabin, by the fireplace. This wasn’t about survival.

It was about control. Or the lack of it.

I stood at the window, the warmth of the tea still in my hands, watching the way his body flexed with each swing – deliberate, precise.

The set of his jaw.

The tension in his shoulders.

The angry look on his face.

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