They came back into the warmth like men who never wanted to leave it again.
Boots scraped once on the entry mat, then fell quiet. The greenhouse glow washed across their coats, soft and green, and the faint hum of the generator threaded beneath the storm's distant roar.
It should have felt safe.
But it didn't.
Sera waited by the door while they unlayered. Velcro sighed; buckles clacked; rope slid in a tired hiss as Zubair coiled it tight and hung it on the peg he'd decided was the peg. Wet gloves thumped onto the low rack by the stove.
The smell in the room shifted from cold metal and snow to damp wool, oil, and something clean from the lemon tree in the greenhouse. Steam lifted off their boots in thin threads.
Her creature purred, pleased with the small order of it. They place themselves. Between you and the glass. Between you and the noise. They know what matters.
