The first snow arrived like it had a personal vendetta. It didn't drift in politely. It didn't whisper. It crashed into the grounds of the hundred-room mansion in fat, dramatic flakes, the kind that made the world go quiet and loud at the same time. White swallowed iron gates, hedges, stone paths. The air sharpened. Winter planted its flag. Tina pressed her face to the window and gasped like she'd just discovered fire.
"SNOW!"
That was it. That was the announcement. No buildup. No warning. Andrew, mid-sip of warm tea, froze.
"No."
She was already gone. By the time he registered what was happening, Tina had yanked on boots that absolutely did not match, grabbed a coat that may or may not have been hers, and was barreling toward the doors with the unfiltered joy of someone who had never once considered consequences. Andrew stared after her, hand drifting instinctively to his belly.
"…Absolutely not."
