The car glides to a stop, its engine a low murmur that fades into the soft hush of the night. Beyond the tinted windows, the little flower shop glows like a jewel box tucked between taller buildings, warm amber light spilling from its windows and painting the wet pavement in soft gold.
The city around it is dressed for celebration: strings of lights draped across every street, every balcony, every bare winter branch. They sway gently in the cold breeze, their warm glow shimmering across the damp pavement like fallen stars waiting to be gathered.
I step out first.
The cold greets me immediately—not harsh, but insistent, creeping through the fabric of my coat, finding the gaps at my collar and wrists. It carries the scent of damp earth, pine, and the quiet promise of snow. The first snowfall is coming, and all of Crystal Country seems to be holding its breath.
Silas steps out too.
