The morning arrived with a pale, wintry light bleeding weakly through the cracks in the walls. The fire in the hearth had long since died, leaving the cottage gripped by a bone-deep chill. Adelheid moved with precise, unhurried efficiency, her expression cold as she laid out thin slices of bread and strips of dried meat on the table. The portions were small enough to mock sustenance. Ruprecht hovered near her, his eyes bloodshot and sunken, his posture as brittle as the frost lining the windows.

Hansel and Gretel sat on the floor, silent but watchful. Gretel’s sharp eyes darted between their parents, catching every flicker of tension in their movements. Something was wrong.

Ruprecht finally broke the silence, his voice rasping like dry leaves. “Maybe… maybe we should wait another day. The forest—”

“We’ve waited long enough,” Adelheid snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. “If we delay any longer, there will be nothing left for any of us.”

Hansel felt his stomach twist, a sickening churn of fear rising with every word. He glanced at Gretel, whose lips had pressed into a thin, unmoving line.

“But they’re just children,” Ruprecht said, his voice trembling. “How can we—”

“They’re old enough to learn,” Adelheid interrupted, her tone freezing the room. Her words were slow, deliberate. “Or would you prefer we all starve together?”

Ruprecht faltered, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “This isn’t right,” he murmured, his voice breaking under the weight of his guilt.

Adelheid turned to him, her gaze as cold and sharp as the morning frost. “Right doesn’t matter anymore,” she said softly, her tone devoid of warmth. “Survival does.”

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When they set out, the sun was high but offered no warmth. The frost crunched loudly beneath their feet, every step echoing in the vast, silent forest. Adelheid walked ahead, her cloak swaying like a black specter in the windless air. Ruprecht trailed behind her, his head bowed, his movements stiff with hesitation.

Hansel and Gretel followed in silence, their small hands clutching the empty baskets they’d been given. The deeper they went into the forest, the darker it became. The towering trees loomed like skeletal giants, their gnarled branches clawing at the pale sky. Shadows pooled thickly beneath them, and the air grew colder with every step.

“Keep up,” Adelheid called sharply, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade.

Hansel quickened his pace, but Gretel slowed, grabbing his arm. Her voice was low, but her words carried weight. “Do you see where we are?”

Hansel nodded, his breath clouding in the frigid air. “Farther than we’ve ever gone.”

“Exactly,” Gretel said, her tone grim. “Look at Father.”

Hansel glanced at Ruprecht, whose hunched shoulders and fidgeting hands betrayed his unease. The man looked like a shadow of himself, his every step hesitant, as if walking toward something he feared.

Hansel shivered, more from the growing dread than the cold. “Why would they—”

“Shh,” Gretel hissed, cutting him off. “Just watch.”

They came to a small clearing, a patch of dead grass surrounded by ancient, skeletal trees. Adelheid stopped abruptly, turning to face the children. Her face was blank, but her eyes carried a weight that crushed whatever faint hope Hansel had clung to.

“Stay here and gather kindling,” she said curtly. “Your father and I will look for larger logs.”

Hansel hesitated, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. “But—”

“We’ll do it,” Gretel interrupted, her hand gripping his arm so tightly it hurt. Her voice was calm, measured, but Hansel caught the edge of desperation beneath it. “We’ll gather it.”

Adelheid nodded once, then turned and walked away without another word. Ruprecht lingered, his eyes flicking between Hansel and Gretel. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, he looked down at the ground, shame burning across his face.

“Stay together,” he mumbled finally, his voice breaking. Then he turned and followed Adelheid into the trees.

Hansel and Gretel watched them go, the frost-covered ground swallowing the sound of their footsteps. The silence that followed was deafening.