Chapter 2
The dim porch light flickered, casting long, wavering shadows across the snowy boards as Leo buried his face deeper into Buster’s thick fur. The dog radiated a steady, furnace-like heat that slowly began to thaw the icy stiffness in the boy’s limbs. Leo kept his eyes fixed on the front door, watching Evelyn’s silhouette through the frosted glass. She stood motionless, her posture rigid, a silent sentinel of rejection. After what felt like hours, her shadow shifted, retreating down the hallway toward the back of the house, plunging the entryway into absolute darkness. The sudden absence of light made the cold feel heavier, more oppressive, wrapping around them like a wet wool blanket.
Buster let out a low whine, sensing the boy’s distress, and shifted his position to block the biting wind that swept across the porch. The large dog pressed his flank firmly against Leo’s side, creating a makeshift barrier against the elements. Leo stroked the coarse hair along the dog's spine, finding a strange comfort in the rhythmic rise and fall of the animal's chest. They had shared moments like this before, hidden corners of a house that felt less like a home with every passing month. Since his father’s passing six months ago, Evelyn had systematically dismantled the warmth of their family, replacing it with strict rules and an unspoken resentment toward the boy who reminded her of a life she apparently wished to forget.
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Shivering visibly, Leo realized they could not simply sit on the exposed porch all night without risking hypothermia. The wind was picking up, driving stinging ice crystals sideways across the yard. He gently pulled on Buster’s collar, whispering softly into the night air. We need to find somewhere out of the wind, boy. Buster responded with a soft huff, standing up and shaking the dusting of snow from his dark coat. The dog trotted toward the side of the house, glancing back over his shoulder to ensure Leo was following. The path led past the frosted kitchen windows, where the faint glow of the stove clock cast a dull green hue over the frozen flower beds.
Moving carefully to avoid making a sound on the icy ground, Leo followed his loyal companion toward the detached wooden shed at the rear of the property. The old structure was usually locked, a storage space for rusted lawnmowers and forgotten summer gear, but Buster had a habit of nosing open the rotting side door where the latch had broken the previous autumn. As they reached the shadow of the shed, the howling wind died down slightly, blocked by the sturdy timber walls. Leo tested the warped wooden door, pulling it back just enough to reveal a dark, cramped interior smelling of cedar and old dust. It was not much, but it was a shelter, and tonight, survival depended on every small mercy they could find together.
