Mrs. Claus paced the cabin, her movements sharp and restless. The fire burned low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room. Smoke the husky lay near the flames, his ears twitching as he tracked his mistress’ movements.

Claude entered, wiping his hands on his apron. “You’ll wear a groove into the floor if you keep this up,” he said with a grin.

Mrs. Claus didn’t respond, her thoughts elsewhere. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Snegurochka’s departure had left a heaviness in the air, a foreboding she couldn’t ignore.

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“She’s fine,” Claude said, his tone softening. “Your sister’s been through worse.”

Mrs. Claus glanced at him, her lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s not her I’m worried about,” she muttered.

Smoke stood suddenly, his hackles rising. Mrs. Claus froze, following his gaze to the door. The husky growled low, the sound reverberating through the room.

Claude’s hand went to the knife on his belt. “What is it?” he whispered.

Before anyone could answer, the door creaked open. Mist spilled inside, curling along the floor like a living thing. Mrs. Claus raised her bow, notching an arrow in one fluid motion.

The mist parted, revealing Snegurochka. Her cloak was torn, blood staining her sleeve, but her expression was steady.

“You’re hurt,” Mrs. Claus said, lowering her bow.

“It’s nothing,” Snegurochka replied, stepping inside. “But Volk knows I’m here. She’ll come. We need to be ready.”