Chapter 2 - Liliac

The cabin creaked as the wind howled outside, rattling the shutters with icy fingers. I barely noticed. My pencil glided over the sketchpad, the delicate curves and sharp angles of a new design taking form under my fingertips. The flickering glow of the fireplace cast shadows across the page, the soft crackle of burning wood filling the quiet space around me.

Outside, the snow fell harder. Thick flakes swirled past the window, disappearing into the endless white expanse of the Rocky Mountains. The storm had been creeping in slowly and steadily since last night until the distant peaks vanished beneath a heavy veil. The world beyond my cabin blurred into a wintry void.

I let out a soft sigh, tilting my head as I examined my latest creation with a mix of pride and contemplation. The floor-length coat stood before me, its silhouette gracefully cinched at the waist, draping effortlessly over an imagined form that exuded strength and femininity. The oversized collar was a statement piece—bold and structured—adding a touch of drama that echoed the character of the woman I envisioned wearing: confident, sophisticated, and unapologetically herself.

As I considered the coat’s fabric, I felt constrained by tradition. Wool seemed too safe for my vision. I wanted something fresh and aligned with my values, like a hemp blend—a sustainable option with durability and a unique texture. Imagining the soft yet sturdy fabric flowing gracefully while maintaining structure filled me with determination for a coat that looked good and made a positive impact.

A gust of wind slammed against the window, jolting me out of my thoughts. I glanced up, my gaze lingering on the storm outside.

It was getting worse.

The thick pine trees lining the property were bending under the weight of fresh snow, their branches swaying against the growing winds. The small solar-powered lanterns along the pathway flickered under the onslaught, their warm glow struggling against the darkening sky.

I bit my lip, my fingers tightening around the edges of my sketchbook. Storms like this weren’t unusual. Living up here, you learned to respect the weather, to anticipate it. I had plenty of firewood, enough food to last, and my generator was fully charged. I would be fine.

Still, a strange unease curled in my stomach.

I hated the isolation sometimes. Not the solitude—I had chosen that—but the helplessness. Out here, the world moved on without me, and if something went wrong… well, there weren’t exactly neighbors within shouting distance.

I set my sketchpad aside and stood, stretching as I walked toward the window. The wind howled again, the trees groaning under its force. Snow had already piled high against the porch, and my little mailbox was barely visible beneath the fresh drifts.

It’s definitely not the kind of night anyone should be out in.

I shivered, rubbing my arms against the biting cold seeping through the old house. Desperate for warmth, I craved a steaming cup of tea. I hadn’t been able to sleep because of the way the wind had been hollowing outside, and then that coat idea came to my mind, and I had to sketch it out before I lost it.

A faint glimmer in the distance caught my eye as I headed to the kitchen—a flickering light against the relentless white. It halted me mid-step as uncertainty gripped my chest.

My heart raced, a steady drum in the silence. No one should be out on the road, not with the storm raging like a wild beast, howling and pounding against the windows.  

I swallowed hard, my throat dry, as I stared into the blizzard that obscured everything beyond the safety of my home. Yet, amidst the swirling flurries, the headlights pulsed like a heartbeat on the distant winding road, flickering erratically through the gusts of snow.

I stood frozen, a mix of trepidation and curiosity coursing through me as I peered into the storm. The headlights blinked in and out of view, battling against the tempest that threatened to swallow them whole. No one should be out here, not in this weather or treacherous roads. What could draw someone into such peril?

A sharp gust rattled the cabin again, and I exhaled, forcing my pulse to slow. Probably a lost tourist. Someone who thought their SUV was invincible, only to realize too late that these mountain roads didn’t care how much horsepower you had. I should have turned off the porch light and clarified that there was no help to be found here.

Instead, I lingered at the window, uneasy.

The storm wasn’t just bad—it was dangerous. If someone was out there, they were either desperate or stupid—or both.

I turned away, shaking my head as I crossed to the kitchen. Tea. That was what I needed. Something warm, something grounding. I grabbed the kettle, filled it with water, and set it on the stove. The familiar click of the gas burner igniting felt reassuring in a way I didn’t want to acknowledge.

As the water heated, I reached for the small radio on the counter and flicked it on. Static crackled, and then a smooth and authoritative voice broke through. No matter what time of day, you could always find some talk station yammering on the radio.

“In political news, Senator Stacey Sherbourn reassured Coloradans today that she remains firmly committed to protecting state lands, despite growing concerns over the latest infrastructure bill…”

I groaned, rolling my eyes as I grabbed a mug.

“The bill, which has sparked debate in the Senate and among local communities, aims to boost Colorado’s economy by expanding commercial development into underutilized areas. Supporters claim it will bring thousands of jobs, while opponents fear it could compromise environmental protections. Senator Sherbourn, however, has doubled down on her stance, calling it a ‘win-win’ for the state’s economy and natural resources.’”

I let out a bitter laugh: Win-win, my ass.

Stacey knew how to talk. That much was clear. She could make gutting protected lands sound like a favor to the people. She could promise one thing with a dazzling smile while signing off on something completely different behind closed doors. And the public? They ate it up. They wanted to believe in her.

They didn’t see what was coming. They didn’t know how twisted my sister was. She had everyone else fooled, but she’d never be able to fool me.

The kettle whistled, loud and shrill, cutting through my frustration. I poured the hot water over my tea bag, gripping the counter’s edge as I let the steam curl around my face. Calm. I needed to stay calm.

“The senator has assured voters that any concerns about land preservation will be addressed before finalizing the bill. However, some environmental groups remain skeptical. Local activist Lilac Ray, who runs a small sustainable fashion brand, recently spoke against the bill…”

I choked on air.

What the hell?

I hadn’t spoken to anyone.

The mug nearly slipped from my fingers as I turned sharply back to the window. The headlights were closer now, cutting through the storm, growing brighter as they crept closer. My pulse quickened.

Who the hell was reckless enough to be out in this?

I set my tea down, barely registering the warmth seeping through the ceramic. The wind howled against the cabin, rattling the old wooden walls, and I wrapped my arms around myself. Maybe I was overreacting, or perhaps it was just some poor driver who took a wrong turn. But something about it felt... off.

My phone vibrated against the counter. I nearly jumped.

Dad.

I exhaled, tension releasing just enough to wipe the answer icon.

“Hey,” I said, voice tight as I turned away from the window.

“Hey, flower,” Dad’s voice rumbled through the line, warm as ever. “You hunkered down for the night?”

I managed a smile. “Yeah. Fire’s going, plenty of supplies. You know me.”

“I do,” he chuckled, but there was an edge of worry beneath it. “Storm’s worse than they predicted. I don’t like the idea of you being up there all alone in this.”

“I’m fine, Dad.” I leaned against the counter, trying to shake off the unease clinging to me. “I grew up in this. You taught me how to handle a snowstorm before I learned how to ride a bike.”

“Still,” he sighed. “It’s different when you don’t have backup. There are no neighbors close by. What if something happens?”

I didn’t have an answer for that. If something happened, there was no safety net out here. My dad always worried about it, wishing I’d stayed in town instead of isolating myself on the eastern slopes of Mount Elbert. But I had my reasons—my life, work, and space.

“I’ll be fine,” I said again, softer. “It’s just another storm. I’ve got firewood, food, and—” I hesitated, glancing back toward the window. The headlights had disappeared behind the heavy snowfall, but that didn’t mean they were gone.

“Lilac?” Dad prompted.

I licked my lips, debating whether to tell him. The last thing I needed was him driving up in the middle of a blizzard to check on me.

“Nothing,” I said, forcing a casual tone. “Just... thought I saw something outside. Probably just the wind playing tricks on me.”

He was silent for a beat.

“You sure?”

I forced a laugh. “Dad. You’d block my number if I called you whenever a tree branch looked suspicious.”

That got a chuckle out of him, but I could still hear the worry in his voice.

“Alright, flower. Just promise me you’ll stay warm. And if you need anything—”

“I’ll call,” I finished for him.

“Good.”

I hung up, setting the phone down.

Then turned back to the window.

The headlights were gone.

But the feeling in my gut? Still there.

The wind screamed through the trees, shaking the cabin like it was trying to peel the roof straight off. I should have felt safe inside, wrapped in warmth while the storm raged outside.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

I kept staring out the window, searching for those damn headlights. Had they turned back? Slid off the road? The unease sitting in my gut wasn’t going anywhere.

Then I heard it.

A sharp, gut-wrenching crash.

The sound tore through the storm—metal on metal, the unmistakable crunch of something colliding with the frozen earth.

I froze.

For a split second, my brain screamed No. I wasn’t an emergency responder. I wasn’t equipped to handle this. I was just one person, alone in the middle of nowhere.

But I was also a human being.

And someone out there needed help.

Cursing under my breath, I grabbed my coat and yanked on my boots. The second I stepped outside, the wind slammed into me, cutting through my layers like a blade. Snow flurries stung my skin, and I had to force my legs forward, one step at a time.

My flashlight barely cut through the whiteout, but I didn’t need to see much—I just followed the deep scar in the snow where something had gone off the road. My heart pounded as I pushed forward, half-tripping, half-stumbling down the incline.

And then, through the swirling snow, I saw it.

A black sedan was crumpled against a tree, its front end smashed, the windshield cracked but still intact. Steam hissed from under the hood, curling into the frozen air. The driver’s side window was coated in snow, and the door was slightly ajar and pushed open by the force of impact.

I sucked in a breath. Oh, hell.

I rushed forward, slipping in the deep snow, gripping the door handle as I yanked it open.

A woman slumped over the wheel, motionless. Rainbow-colored curls spilled over her face, and her skin was far too pale against the dim light.

“Hey,” I said sharply, shaking her shoulder. “Can you hear me?”

No response.

Shit.

I was about to check for a pulse when a soft whimper made me jolt.

I turned my head, and there—in the passenger seat—was a puppy.

A tiny, fluffy thing, corgi-sized but with thick, golden-brown fur. The puppy’s ears were too big for his head, and his dark eyes were wide and scared. He pawed at the woman’s arm, whimpering, nudging, trying to wake her up.

My chest tightened. Damn it.

I needed to move fast.

With more strength than I realized I had, I pulled the woman from the car, draping her limp body over my shoulder. The puppy barked frantically, so I scooped him up, tucking him against my chest.

Then, against the howling storm, I returned to the cabin—bringing them both with me.