Chapter 4
The storm has not yet reached its end; it has merely taken a second breath. Outside, the wind batters the pines with a renewed, savage vigor, making the branches groan and snap like breaking bones. Inside the cabin, the heavy silence is only punctuated by the rhythmic crackle of the fireplace and the breathing of the massive white dog—breathing that is now deeper, steadier, and more rhythmic than before.
I sit at the kitchen table, cradling a lukewarm cup of tea between my palms. I watch the screen of my phone; the signal comes and goes like a ghost. The 4G icon blinks weakly before vanishing entirely, leaving only a dismal "X" where my connection to the rest of the world ought to be. I sigh with sheer frustration, thumping the phone down onto the table.
"Brilliant," I mutter to the empty room. "No money, and now almost no way to talk to anyone."
Suddenly, the phone vibrates against the wooden surface, making me jump. What the hell, I thought the signal was dead, I think. I grab it and notice a sliver of a signal, but it's the notification on the screen that catches my eye: a WhatsApp message from Francesca.
Francesca has been my best friend since university. We were inseparable, despite the fact that our lives couldn't have been more different if we'd tried. She comes from a family with the kind of wealth I will never truly wrap my head around, while I struggle to pay the rent on a one-bedroom cabin. But Francesca never judged me; she wasn't like the others, and she never looked down on me just because I was at university on a full scholarship. She is my anchor.
Opening the chat, I see a string of unread messages from the last few hours.
"Cass, please, tell me you're okay. The storm in the mountains looks horrific."
"Answer me! I'm desperate."
"Something terrible has happened, Cass. My brother... he's disappeared."
My fingers fly across the digital keyboard.
"Francesca, I am so sorry. I've had terrible signal. I'm okay, just a bit isolated. What do you mean your brother disappeared? The eldest? The one you told me runs the family businesses?"
The reply is almost instantaneous, a sign that Francesca is glued to her phone, likely in tears.
"Yes, him. He left for a private meeting three days ago and never returned. His car was found abandoned near the route that leads up toward your area. Cass, Dad is losing his mind. They say it could have been an accident or... something worse. We have enemies, you know that."
I freeze. Route 12 passes less than two kilometers from my front door. I glance sideways at the white dog resting by the fire. An absurd thought flashes through my mind, but I discard it immediately: Francesca's brother is a magnate, a titan of industry. Although I've never actually seen him, he is a total mystery to me—certainly not a wounded animal in the woods.
"Don't worry, Francesca. If he passed through here, someone must have seen him. The police must be looking for him, right?" I type, trying to inject some optimism into the screen.
"The police can't do much. We're using our own security. Cass, I'm sending you a photo of him. It's from a week ago. Please, if you see anyone looking like him lurking on the trails or if you hear anything in town, let me know immediately. It's vital."
The loading circle appears on the screen. An image is arriving.
"Come on, load..." I plead with the phone.
The circle spins and spins. My satellite internet is suffering under the weight of the snow piled on the roof antenna. The progress bar moves a millimeter and then dies. I look at the dog; he has lifted his head and is watching me with those fixed blue eyes, almost as if he understands that I'm discussing someone of great importance.
"It's my friend's brother, Thor. Some rich guy, probably stuck-up and arrogant like all the millionaires who get lost in the snow," I roll my eyes sarcastically. "He's probably toasted in some luxury hotel complaining about the room service." I make faces as I talk to the animal, trying to alleviate the gnawing worry I feel for Francesca.
Finally, the image gives up and refuses to load; it is a total disappointment due to the abysmal connection speed. The phone only displays a blurred image—a chaos of horrific pixelation and distorted colors. Nothing can be seen except the silhouette of a man with broad shoulders, or what might be a dark suit. His face is a smudge. The only thing that can be distinguished, a tiny speck of color where his face should be, are two blue dots—almost the exact same shade as the eyes of the dog in my living room.
"Hell of a gene pool," I whisper, pressing the phone to my face. "I guess everyone in that family has those model eyes."
I try to force the download one more time, but a connection error pops up. Frustrated, I leave the phone on the table again.
"Francesca, the photo won't load properly, it's super blurry. I can only tell he's handsome and has blue eyes. But stay calm—if I see an Armani model walking through the snow half-dead, you'll be the first to know."
I get no response; the internet has died completely. I stand up and walk to the window. The snow continues to fall, erasing every trace of the outside world. I feel trapped, but strangely, I'm not afraid. I look at the dog, who has now stood up with visible difficulty. His legs tremble, but his posture is proud, almost arrogant.
"You should be lying down, Thor. The doctor said you lost a lot of blood."
The dog ignores my command. He approaches me with slow, heavy steps; the sound of his claws against the wooden floor is the only thing audible in the room. He stops a few inches from my leg and begins to sniff me again. But this time it's different. It isn't a curious sniff; it's an inspection. He had smelled me before, but never quite like this, never with this intensity; it had always been while he was lying down. He passes his snout over my hands, then my waist, and finally leans with significant weight against my side. He is so large that his back reaches above my hip. I feel his heat radiating through my clothes—a heat that feels more human than animal. In fact, I don't think any human would be this warm.
"What is it? Are you hungry?"
He looks up and lets out a short huff, almost like a laugh. Then he does something that leaves me breathless: he licks the palm of my hand, right where I have a small scar from when I was a child. His tongue is coarse and warm. I shiver, not from fear, but from a strange sensation of belonging that I wouldn't know how to explain.
Could humans create a bond with a dog like this? Does this mean that once he's healed, he'll stay with me? Hope blooms in my chest because, at the very least, I might not have any savings, but I'd have a great friend for life! I laugh at my own absurd thoughts.
"You're a very strange creature, you know that?" I say, scratching his white ears. "You're far too polite to be a wild dog."
In my mind, the blurred image of Francesca's brother mixes for a second with the electric blue of the dog's eyes. I shake my head. It's the exhaustion, Cassandra. You're projecting things because you're alone, I scold myself.
I convince myself that Francesca's brother is just another rich boy who has never spent a day hungry in his life; someone who would probably despise someone like me if we met under normal circumstances. Perhaps that's why his family is so worried: the poor little rich boy is missing and wouldn't know how to survive on his own. He, on the other hand, has nothing to do with this beautiful, wounded warrior lying here with me.
That night, I go to bed wondering how I'll ever pay the rent. I fall asleep with the phone in my hand, hoping that Francesca's photo might decide to load in the early hours of the morning. It didn't.
However, what did happen was that in the middle of the night, I felt an additional weight at the foot of my bed. A large, furry, protective weight. Instead of screaming, I curled up under the blankets, feeling deeply safe for the first time in weeks.