Tobias tugs on his boots with trembling fingers, not bothering to lace them, and eases the cabin door open just wide enough to slip through. The cold hits him at once — sharp and pine-scented, the kind that makes the inside of your nose ache. He steps off the porch into the snow, and there it is: a warm amber glow drifting between the trunks, maybe thirty paces ahead, moving with the unhurried purpose of someone who knows exactly where they are going. He follows, boots crunching softly, breath rising in small clouds. The light pauses. Tobias freezes behind a spruce, peering around its trunk. The lantern hangs from a low branch, swaying slightly — but whoever carried it is gone. In its pool of light, two things wait: a narrow path leading deeper into the forest, and at the base of the branch, a small folded note.