Snow fell in clean, silent sheets the night Elias returned.
It coated the city in a fragile stillness, softening sharp edges and dulling sound until even the roar of traffic felt distant. Beneath the overpass, the world shrank to shadows, concrete pillars, and the steady rhythm of Carter's breathing as he stood watch.
Anna slept curled against his side, wrapped in layers that were never quite enough. Her head rested beneath his chin, her dark hair tickling his throat each time she shifted. Carter kept one arm around her and the other free, ready—though he no longer knew what he was ready for.
He counted her breaths.
One. Two. Three.
Each one mattered.
The city had taught him that nothing was guaranteed—not warmth, not food, not tomorrow. Only this moment. Only her.
The pressure in the air changed.
Carter straightened slowly. It wasn't a sound that warned him, not footsteps or voices. It was the absence of noise, the way the wind seemed to hesitate, as though waiting for permission to move again.
Footsteps crunched softly on snow.
Carter did not turn.
"I said I would return," a calm voice said behind him.
Carter exhaled through his nose. "You shouldn't have."
He felt rather than saw the man come closer, stopping several paces away. Elias never crowded him. Never rushed. The restraint was deliberate.
"You're colder than the last time I saw you," Elias said.
Carter's jaw tightened. "Winter does that."
"And hunger," Elias added. "And exhaustion."
Carter turned then, placing himself fully between the man and Anna. Elias stood beneath the glow of a flickering streetlight, his white coat immaculate, its fabric unmarked by soot or slush. Snow gathered on Carter's shoulders, soaked into his sleeves. None touched Elias.
Anna stirred.
Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. She squinted against the light, then froze.
"It's the snow man," she whispered.
Elias inclined his head slightly. "If that helps you feel less afraid, then yes."
Carter felt anger flare. "Don't talk to her."
"I won't lie to her," Elias replied gently. "But I will speak if she wishes."
Anna's fingers tightened in Carter's coat. "Are you going to take us?"
The question cut deeper than Carter expected.
Elias crouched slightly, lowering himself so his presence did not loom. "No," he said without hesitation. "I'm here to offer you something."
Carter's laugh came out sharp and humorless. "We don't have anything worth trading."
"That," Elias said, "isn't true."
Snow continued to fall, catching in Carter's lashes. Elias remained untouched, as if the storm simply did not acknowledge him.
"You have survived," Elias went on, rising back to his full height. "Together. That alone makes you valuable."
"Valuable to who?" Carter snapped.
"To those who notice patterns," Elias replied. "To those who watch what the city discards."
Carter's grip on Anna tightened. "We're not going anywhere."
Elias nodded. "You already are."
The words settled between them, heavy and inescapable.
"You've been moving for years," Elias continued. "From corner to corner. Season to season. Always avoiding hands that promise help and bring division instead."
Anna frowned. "Division?"
"It means being split apart," Elias said softly.
Her face drained of color.
Carter swallowed hard. "They always say it's temporary."
"Yes," Elias agreed. "And then it becomes permanent."
Silence followed. Somewhere above them, a train thundered across the bridge, shaking loose a curtain of snow that fell around them like ash.
"Our offer is different," Elias said at last. "You would remain together. There would be no reassignment. No rotation. No system that decides one of you would be 'better off' without the other."
Carter felt his pulse in his ears. "Always?"
Elias met his gaze. "Always."
Anna pressed her face into Carter's chest. "I don't want to be alone."
"You won't be," Elias said.
"And the price?" Carter demanded. "There's always a price."
Elias did not deny it. "Commitment."
"To what?"
"To a home," Elias said. "To a structure that protects what it claims."
Carter shook his head. "We don't need structure. We need food."
"And warmth," Elias added. "And rest. And time to grow instead of endure."
Carter opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. Anna's cough rattled softly against his chest.
Elias watched, patient as snowfall.
"You don't even know us," Carter said.
"I know enough," Elias replied. "I know your names."
Anna lifted her head. "How?"
"Names leave impressions," Elias said. "Especially when spoken in grief."
Carter's stomach twisted.
Elias reached into his coat and withdrew a small white card. He did not hand it over. Instead, he placed it carefully on the snow between them, as though it were fragile.
"When you're ready," he said, "this address will lead you somewhere warm."
"And if we're not ready?" Carter asked.
Elias's voice remained calm. "Then winter will continue."
The truth of it hurt more than any threat.
Anna tugged at Carter's sleeve. "I'm tired," she whispered. "I don't want to sleep where it hurts anymore."
Carter closed his eyes.
Fire bloomed behind his eyelids. Sirens. Hands pulling them apart. Anna screaming his name as the world burned.
He opened them again.
Elias was watching—not eagerly, not cruelly, but with the certainty of someone who knew the outcome long before the choice was offered.
"You won't take her," Carter said hoarsely.
"That," Elias said, inclining his head, "is the one promise I will not break."
He stepped back into the snowfall. "Three days," he added. "After that, the city will make the decision for you."
The snow swallowed him whole.
The card remained.
The next three days were a slow unraveling.
Anna grew weaker. Carter stopped sleeping entirely. He carried her through streets that blurred together, past shelters already full, past doors that never opened. His arms ached constantly. His vision swam.
On the third night, Anna collapsed.
Carter did not hesitate.
He ran.
By the time he reached the address on the card, his legs trembled so violently he nearly fell.
The building waiting for them was white.
Not bright. Not sterile.
Simply white, as though the idea itself had been given shape.
Elias stood at the entrance, hands clasped behind his back.
"You came," he said.
Carter said nothing.
Elias stepped aside. Warmth spilled out, carrying the scent of antiseptic and something sweet beneath it.
"Welcome home," Elias said.
The door closed behind them without a sound.