Elias slid out of the truck slower, his eyes scanning the fence lines, the road, the gullies—a human radar adjusting after hours on static.
He tipped his head toward the house, listening to the way the wind moved through it, trying to hear if there were any threats inside.
When no alarms tripped behind his eyes, he nodded to himself, which counted for reassurance in this idea of new normal.
Alexei drifted to the hood and dropped a canvas canteen onto the hot metal.
His breath steadied, his attention narrowing not outward but inward.
Frost bloomed under his palm, like a delicate feather, racing across steel in a white film that wasn't normal by any stretch of the imagination.
He peeled his hand away and the frost laced the canteen like veins in marble; the canvas went brittle with cold. He unscrewed the cap and tipped the mouth to the air.
Snow whispered inside in a soft tumble.
