Dizzying, the stars and the cold. Tusker clipped out of his skis halfway across the frozen lake and crunched awkwardly in a drunken radius away from them in his stiff boots, gazing upwards. He wanted to burn this experience into his memory—the empty loneliness of a billion winter stars, the deep snow, the sharp biting air. He thought of Upali and how he hated the cold of a Michigan winter. He laughed out loud. Sri Lanka seemed a distant memory now—Rausing, Roland, the Depth Charge, all of it.

It was Tusker’s last night in the middle of nowhere. Tomorrow he would return home, each mile of the drive back spooling in the real world like one of the lunker bass that slept in the lake below his feet. The new semester started in a week, and with it, another crop of students, more campus politics, papers to write, the long slog into spring.

He snapped into the bindings again. The left one had frozen up with compacted snow and he had to remove a glove to clear it. His fingers burned and he shoved them back into his glove. He forced his boot into the binding, snapping off a splinter of yellow plastic in the process. He couldn’t be bothered now. As long as he could ski back to the cabin, he could deal with a new binding back home next week.

The cabin was cheerful from a distance. He’d stoked the fire before setting out, and from the smell of the smoke on the wind, he knew it would still be warm inside. He hurriedly took off the skis and leaned them up on the cabin’s small porch, not bothering to wipe the icy buildup from them. As he stepped into the cabin, the warmth enveloped him. He stripped off his anorak, cap, and gloves, and tossed them in a heap on the bench inside the door.

“I was about to send out the search party.” Samanthi de Silva smiled at him from across the single room. She was sitting on the floor near the fire, her knees pulled up to her chin. She wore one of Tusker’s thick sweaters and her hair was pulled back, a few wisps trailing down around her face. The firelight made her skin glow.

“I need to teach you how to ski!” Tusker replied and pulled off his boots.

“Um, no thanks. I’m quite fine here by the fire.” Sam held out a silver flask. “Take a pull, it’ll warm you up.”

Tusker took it from her and tipped it back into his mouth. The scotch was warm and smoky. He took another drink, then screwed down the cap.

“It’s gotten colder outside,” he said, sliding down next to Sam on the rug. She’d kept the fire fed with logs and it danced in the grate.