The Omega Knotting a Stranger

8

ARCHER

I ’m chopping carrots in Hunter’s kitchen, the thud of the knife against the cutting board almost drowning out the howling wind outside. Fuck, the blizzard’s gotten worse in the last hour, turning the windows into solid sheets of white. Something about the storm feels wrong—too intense, too purposeful, as if it’s trying to keep us all trapped here. As if it’s hiding something out there.

“You know,” Hunter states from behind me, and I glance back to see him rustling through his walk-in pantry. “You don’t have to cook.” He emerges with a jar of honey-roasted peanuts, but there’s tension in his shoulders I’ve never seen before. “We could just...”