Shared Desires
John, on the other hand, speaks of places where snow never melts and of people he learned never to lose sight of—stories I can’t tell if they’re warnings or confessions.
Sometimes, in those moments, I catch myself imagining there’s no intruder, no danger—that we’re just three people locked in an endless winter, learning to breathe at the same rhythm. But then, outside, the wind rises and reminds me that all this is just a tense pause, the silence before the noise.
“Not much longer,” Demon says one afternoon, adjusting one of the traps. “I know it. I can feel it.”
“So can I,” John replies, and for the first time, there’s no doubt in his tone—only something that sounds like absolute conviction
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