The train pulled into Schlangming Station under a pale, greying sky.

Snow lined the tracks, packed tight and dirty, with a wind had pushed it against the platform.

I stepped out first, drawing a deep breath of air that felt sharper than anything I was used to. Will was right next to me,

dragging his duffel bag by his shoulder strap, and grinning, despite his nose already

turning pink. We took a shuttle from Slanding, up to Ramso and Deistine, which clung to the

edge of the alpine slope.

Every building looked older than it probably was, with sharply pitched roofs thick with

snow, wooden balconies stacked with chopped firewood, and narrow windows that glowed faintly

orange as evening settled over the ridge. The main street was quiet. A few bundled

up figures walked with purpose but didn't linger. Every step we took echoed between the

buildings. The air smelled faintly of pine and smoke. Albin and Marcus were already waiting at the guesthouse when we arrived.

They stood near the steps, both taller than I expected.

Albin wore a heavy black coat zipped to his throat, a thick beanie pulled low.

Marcus looked more relaxed, leaning against the wooden railing, smoking a cigarette,

his backpack at his feet.

Meeting them for the first time felt surreal.

We'd spoken for almost a year online, but there was still something odd about standing face to face.

You get so used to that screen buffer that seeing your online friends in real life is almost

uncanny.

Will went right up to shake their hands, already launching some sort of joke.

They laughed, though I could tell it was more polite than genuine.

We were the odd ones out, and it showed.

...