96

Ice spreads through my bones. The deliciousness of the meal evaporates. “What?”

“You died because of me. I was responsible. Camila, the very thought that I could lose you is unbearable.”

Reaching over the table, I grab his hand in mine. “You won’t.”

“Predicting the future is impossible,” he argues sourly.

I clench his hand tighter. “Yes, but I know you won’t be the reason I die.”

The lights on the chandelier flicker, then go out. I yelp in surprise. “What happened?”

“Shit,” Asher mutters, scraping his chair backward. The firelight makes one half of the cabin red and orange; the window paints the rest in washes of blue and somber purple. I didn’t notice it earlier, but there’s a scraping, wheezing noise, tiny taps as something small and hard brushes along the window. He moves to a metal plate on the wall—I could barely see it if not for the fire’s glow. He fiddles with it. “The snow has started coming down again hard. Must have taken the power out.”

“Will we be okay?” I ask nervously.