Chapter 10
When Lionel woke, the first thing he noticed was how cold he was.
At first, he thought it must be Mads—he’d gotten used to the man’s cold skin pressed against him through the night.
But when he cracked open his eyes, he saw small clouds of vapor puffing out with every exhale.
Lionel blinked hard, trying to clear the grogginess from his mind, watching the tiny ghostly breaths fade in the air.
Each inhale burned slightly, his lungs protesting the frigid air.
The only parts of him still warm were where Mads’ face was pressed snugly into his neck and chest, his breath warming Lionel’s skin in small, damp bursts.
Mads was still tucked tightly into his arms, the blankets pulled up to his ears.
Their legs were hopelessly tangled, Mads’ ankles hooked firmly around his own, so that when Lionel tried to shift away, he couldn’t immediately tell whose limbs were whose.
It felt like far too many cold toes were digging into his calves.
When he finally managed to lift himself up a little, blinking over the edge of their nest of blankets, his mouth fell open.
Soft, delicate white flakes were drifting down from the ceiling.
A thin layer of snow had already started to collect on top of the covers, and even on Mads’ head.
Lionel hadn’t noticed at first—on Mads’ white-blond hair, the snow was nearly invisible.
For a moment, he just stared, breath caught in his throat. Was he dreaming? The ceiling was intact; there was no gaping hole or ominous storm clouds waiting above. The snow simply fell straight out of the plaster, as if reality had decided to rewrite itself overnight.
His first instinct was to question if it was even snow at all.
Maybe it was drywall dust or insulation flaking off.
He reached out, brushing his fingers through Mads’ hair and picking up some of the cold granules.
When he brought them to his nose, they didn’t smell of anything but the faintest clean chill.
They melted instantly against his warm skin, tiny droplets sliding down his knuckles.
A real, bewildered laugh caught in his throat. Of all the impossible, terrifying things this place had shown him, gently snowing inside their bedroom almost felt the least threatening. Almost.
From Lionel’s touch and shifting around, Mads slowly woke up. He blinked several times before looking up at Lionel, his eyebrows pinching in confusion. “Is that snow?”
“Yup,” Lionel breathed.
Mads seemed strangely angry. A frown pulled his lips down, and an almost confused expression crossed his features. Lionel almost reached out to smooth the deep line that had appeared on his forehead, but stopped himself at the last moment.
They peeled themselves apart, and Lionel grabbed the sweatshirts they had both tossed away.
Mads was already shivering again as he pulled it over his head, shaking off the snow from his hair as he did so.
He already missed Mads’ warmth against him as the other stood up, head tilted up toward the ceiling so the snowflakes fell onto his pale skin.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself.
Lionel got to his feet, joints stiff from the cold, and reached down to grab the water bottle he’d been sipping from the night before. As he lifted it, he froze. The water inside was solid ice, frost lacing the sides all the way up to the cap. His heart skipped painfully in his chest.
He quickly crossed to where they’d stacked the rest of their supplies. Snow had drifted over everything, a thin white blanket covering the bags. Lionel brushed it off with numb fingers and began digging through them, pulling out bottle after bottle. Each one was rock hard with ice.
“Shit,” he whispered under his breath, his pulse starting to race. He tossed the bottles aside and rummaged deeper, hands trembling as they searched for anything salvageable.
The couple of apples they’d managed to grab were now collapsed in on themselves, blackened and split with rot.
The cans—ones that should’ve lasted for years—were bloated and cracked open, their contents frozen and leaking out in sharp-smelling clumps.
Even sealed packages of bread and snacks were speckled with mold, as if they’d been left out for months instead of hours.
Lionel’s hands shook harder. He shoved the bag away with a sharp exhale, running both hands through his hair and gripping tightly enough to sting his scalp. His chest felt tight, breaths coming shallow and fast.
“What’s wrong?” Mads’ voice was gentle but startlingly close. Lionel jumped slightly as he turned to find him standing right behind him, concern etched across his pale face.
“It’s all gone bad,” Lionel snapped, his voice breaking under the strain. “Every single thing—our food, our water—it’s useless now.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, forcing down a tide of frustrated, helpless anger. It wasn’t Mads’ fault, but every part of him wanted to rage at someone.
Mads laid a careful hand on his shoulder. Lionel tried not to shrug it off. He sucked in a breath, trying to steady himself.
“How did this even happen?” he muttered. The words tasted bitter. But the answer was already lurking at the edges of his mind, icy and inexorable. His shoulders slumped as the truth settled over him. “It’s the building,” he whispered hoarsely. “It did this. Just like everything else.”
“You think?” Mads asked, words slow as he gazed around.
“It must know we’re in here. Maybe it’s angry that the creatures can’t get in here, so it’s trying to fuck with us in other ways.
” Lionel picked up a bottle of water and threw it as hard as he could at the wall.
The bang was loud enough for Mads to flinch.
“It’s trying to fucking starve us to death—or make us die of thirst.”
Mads’ hand landed on Lionel’s shoulder a moment later. Even though it was just as cold as the snow collecting on top of his head, the weight of it was strangely comforting, grounding him for a second in the fact that he wasn’t alone.
“It’s okay,” Mads said quietly, voice calm in a way that only made Lionel’s skin crawl. “We can figure it out. Maybe it—”
“No.” Lionel whipped around to face him, shaking his head sharply.
“How can you stand there and say it’s okay?
Look at this!” He gestured wildly to the ruined bags scattered around them.
“All of our food is gone. Our water is gone. Now even this hideout is ruined! What if the snow never stops, huh? What if it keeps falling until it fills this entire apartment?”
He pointed down to their feet. Even in the short time since they’d woken up, the snow had crept higher, now dusting over their shoes and ankles.
“We can’t stay here,” Lionel went on, his voice cracking under the weight of panic.
“It’s like the building is trying to push us out—force us somewhere else.
And even if we did stay, what then? We have no food, no water, and everything is getting soaked. We’ll freeze to death in here.”
For a moment, Mads didn’t say anything, just watching Lionel with that maddeningly serene expression.
Then he offered, “Maybe… maybe the bathtub we filled is okay.” His words sparked the tiniest flicker of hope.
Lionel clung to it desperately, shoving past Mads and making his way to the bathroom.
He nearly skidded on the slick floor in his hurry.
But the second he looked inside, that fragile hope shattered. The bathtub was little more than a wide basin of ice now, the water inside frozen into a thick, glassy sheet. Lionel stared at it, his breath coming fast enough to fog the surface, a scream building at the back of his throat.
It was impossible for that much water to freeze this quickly. Not naturally. Not unless something wanted it to.
He leaned against the doorframe, pressing a hand to his forehead.
His skin felt hot with panic, a harsh contrast to the icy air around him.
“It’s not just bad luck,” he rasped finally.
“It’s deliberate. The building... it did this on purpose.
” Behind him, he felt Mads’ cold hand slide into his, squeezing gently.
But even that small comfort couldn’t keep Lionel’s mind from racing with dark possibilities.
“We should just leave,” Lionel said, rubbing a hand over his face. “If the building knows we’re here, it’s not safe.”
Mads was looking back at the room, an expression Lionel couldn’t figure out on his face.
He looked like he wanted to argue. Lionel reached out, grasping Mads’ shoulder and nodding toward the room.
“How about you stay here? I’ll go out and check the apartments around here and see what shape they’re in—maybe there’s something similar to here. ”
Mads immediately shook his head, stepping forward. “We shouldn’t split up—what if you get lost in the building and can’t make your way back?”
Lionel sighed. “I won’t go far, I just don’t want you getting hurt,” he said, looking pointedly at Mads' fingers that were slowly turning purple the longer they stood here. “Try to salvage anything we can use and maybe look around the apartment for anything else we could take.” He stooped down and grabbed the mallet from where he’d left it.
“Pack up the weapons and just… stay here. I’ll only be gone for a few minutes—I promise. ”
As he made his way toward the apartment door, he felt a hand grab his. He turned around, wincing at how hard Mads’ grip was. “Lionel,” he said, his tone sterner than it usually was. His red eyes were narrowed. “Don’t.”
“What else do you want me to do?” Lionel snapped, yanking his hand out of Mads’ grip. His voice cracked, breath hissing out in white clouds. “Just stand here until we starve or freeze to death?”
“Wait a second.” Mads took a small step closer, hands out like he might try to soothe a wild animal. “Let’s think about this. Maybe the snow will stop. Maybe we’re panicking for nothing—”