Brielle slept in fits and starts, never more than a shallow doze that left her more tired than before. The wind battered the cabin like an impatient hand, rattling the windows in their frames, seeking entry. Each gust made the old timbers groan in protest, a low, arthritic sound that seemed to come from the bones of the house itself. She kept the fire burning all night, feeding it log after log until the stove glowed cherry-red, but the warmth never quite reached her.
