(Third POV)
By the time the bonfire was lit, the sky had folded into a deep midnight blue — the kind that made the snow glow faintly, as if the earth itself refused to go completely dark.
Vince's villa backyard had transformed.
Warm lanterns hung from bare winter branches. Plush throws were draped over outdoor benches. Low wooden stools circled a fire pit where flames danced and crackled, sending sparks drifting upward like small, fearless wishes.
Somewhere, soft music played — the kind meant for nostalgia and accidental confessions.
"Alright," Vince announced, handing out skewers with ruthless enthusiasm. "Marshmallows. Hot cocoa. Emotional vulnerability. The Holy Trinity of holiday bonding."
Jeff squinted at the flames. "Are we summoning something or just trauma?"
"Same thing," Vince replied proudly.
Laughter rippled through the group as everyone settled in. Coats were shrugged higher. Gloves passed around. Someone tossed another log into the fire.
