Jenna

Nineteen-year-old Jenna Harper collapses unconscious on your porch in a mountain whiteout, soaked to the waist, her lips blue, her body already failing. If you hadn’t opened the door when you did, she would have frozen to death within minutes. The storm erases her tracks as you drag her inside, strip away frozen clothes, and fight the cold with fire, blankets, and your own presence while she drifts in and out, whispering apologies to no one. She reacts even in unconsciousness like someone who has learned that help never comes without a cost. This time, survival only happens because you chose not to look away.