By late afternoon, the gentle warmth of the morning had dimmed into an uneasy stillness. Lillian felt the shift before she even registered the darkening sky — a quiet prickle at the back of her mind, the instinctive awareness she'd lived with for so long. The air outside her window carried a sharpness that rivaled the normal winter season, a pressure that made her pause with her fingertips against the cold glass. Students were hurrying across the courtyard, jackets pulled tight, the wind cutting harsher with every passing minute. Snowflakes began to drift down —soft, almost delicate — but the sky above them churned in a way that made her stomach dip. This wasn't just weather. She couldn't explain how she knew, only that she did. Something was coming, and it wasn't going to be gentle.
The blizzard built rapidly, blowing ice and snow with such force some of thewindows shattered. The chilly air cut through the building with frigid severity.
Campus alarms crackled once—then died, strangled by the ice that dragged the power grid into silence. Darkness swallowed the hallways, thick and absolute, broken only by the wind's banshee howl battering the walls outside.
But for Lillian, darkness was never complete.
Her eyes, sensitive from years of adaptation, strained to gather what little light remained: the faint shimmer of snow reflected through frosted windows, the ghostly outlines of doors, the shifting shadows that marked the corridor's uncertain edges. The cold gnawed at her, biting through her sleeves and settling in her bones, but she gritted her teeth and pressed on. People needed help.
She moved from door to door, knuckles rapping softly, voice low but steady. "Stay calm. Head for the cafeteria—Chef Jack's got the stoves. It'll be warm there."
Behind each door, she heard the shiver of fear—teeth chattering, muffled sobs, the uncertain shuffle of feet. She guided them with quiet authority, warning of slick patches and unseen hazards. "Stay close to the wall. The floor's are slick with ice."
Room by room, she gathered them. Chelsea and Mitchell soon found her, bundled in a blanket, face pale but determined. "We'll help anyone who needs it," Chelsea whispered, her breath a trembling cloud in the cold.
"Good," Lillian replied, rubbing her arms as another gust knifed through the corridor. "Let's get the last few."
At the final room, two shivering players huddled near the door. Tyler and Samira. "The lights went out—we thought we were trapped," Samira stammered, teeth chattering.
Lillian managed a reassuring smile. "Not on my watch. Follow me."
But as she turned, a chill swept through her—different from the cold. Instinct prickled at the back of her neck. The air changed, heavy and oppressive, as if the building itself was holding its breath.
"Move," she hissed, urgency sharpening her voice. "Don't look back."
The two players didn't hesitate. They bolted down the hall toward the others.
Lillian spun to follow—then heard it: a deep, groaning crack from above. The sound of ice shifting, metal supports straining under a burden they were never meant to bear.
Her breath caught. The ceiling panel. The snow. The weight.
She darted aside, but the cold had slowed her reflexes. The floor trembled beneath her feet—a warning, too late.
"Lillian!" Chelsea's voice echoed, distant and desperate.
The ceiling gave way with a roar. A torrent of snow and shattered metal crashed down, swallowing Lillian in a suffocating, frigid wave.
For a heartbeat, she fought—arms flailing, lungs burning with cold. Then the world narrowed to white, and silence pressed in, heavy and absolute.
_______________________________________
The ceiling panel crashed down with a deafening bang, sending a shockwave through the corridor. For a split second, Mark froze—then adrenaline took over.
"LILLIAN!" His shout ricocheted off the walls, raw and desperate, slicing through the icy silence.
Chelsea was right behind him, boots skidding on the frost-slick floor. The hallway was a gauntlet of shattered tiles and swirling snow, every step a gamble. Mark's heart hammered as he reached the mound of debris, the cold biting through his clothes, through his resolve.
Please, let me be fast enough. Let her be alive. After everything we've been through…
He dropped to his knees, hands plunging into the snow. "Come on, come on—Lillian, answer me!" His breath fogged in the frigid air, each exhale a countdown.
Chelsea knelt opposite, her hands trembling as she clawed at the snow. "She's got to be here—she couldn't have gone far!" Her voice was thin, stretched taut with fear.
Mark's fingers scraped something soft—a sleeve. Thank God. "I've got her!" His voice cracked, relief and terror tangled together. "Chelsea, help me clear her!"
They dug with frantic urgency, the world narrowing to the pale face they uncovered—Lillian, lips blue, lashes crusted with ice, utterly still.
No, no, no—she's not moving. Don't let it be too late.
Mark pressed his fingers to her neck, searching for a pulse. It was there—faint, but steady. "She's alive," he whispered, but the words felt fragile, as if the cold could snatch them away. "She's freezing. And she's out cold."
Chelsea yanked off her coat, wrapping it around Lillian's limp body. Mark added his own jacket, but the cold was relentless, seeping through every layer.
"We have to move—now," Mark said, voice low and commanding. "The cafeteria. Jack's got the burners going. It's our only shot."
He lifted Lillian, cradling her against his chest. Her head lolled, skin icy even through the fabric. Chelsea darted ahead, clearing the path, her boots slipping dangerously on the frozen tiles.
"The tiles are iced over—watch your step!" she called, voice echoing in the empty hall.
Mark pressed forward, every muscle burning with effort. The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, shadows flickering in the dim emergency lights. Lillian didn't stir, her body limp in his arms—a weight that grew heavier with every step.
"Stay with me, Lil. Just a little further," Mark murmured, his breath ragged.
At last, they reached the cafeteria. Warm orange light spilled under the doors—refuge in the storm. Chelsea shoved them open, her voice sharp with urgency. "Jack! Blankets—anything warm!"
The room was already full — testers huddled in groups, devs clutching clipboards and tablets, and Ms. Steele standing near the emergency heater with several senior staff. Conversations froze as Mark rushed through the doorway, Lillian limp in his arms.
Gasps rippled across the room.
Mark barely heard them. His world was narrowed to one thing: the girl in his arms who wasn't breathing right, wasn't moving, wasn't responding.
He dropped to his knees beside the nearest stove as Chef Jack shoved thick thermal blankets into his hands.
"Wrap 'er up! Keep her close — skin contact'll help!" Jack urged, voice sharp under the British lilt.
Mark didn't hesitate. Jackets, blankets, anything warm — he layered them around Lillian, pulling her firmly against his chest, rubbing her arms and hands to force warmth back into her limbs. His breath shook as he whispered to her, voice raw.
"Come on, Lillian… please… just stay with me. I've got you. You're safe."
Her head rested against his shoulder, ice melting in her hair from the heat of the stoves. Her skin was frighteningly pale. Too cold. Too still.
Chelsea crouched beside him, but even she could see the world around Mark had disappeared. Nothing existed but Lillian.
Mark brushed trembling fingers over her cheek, trying to warm her skin. "Please wake up. Please…"
A murmur rose from the cafeteria — confusion, surprise, shock.
Testers stared. Devs stared. Ms. Steele stared.
Mark's voice was thick, breaking at the edges. "You're not leaving me, okay? I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
Ms. Steele's brows furrowed — not in disapproval, but in understanding.
One of the devs whispered, "Is he… crying?"
Another murmured, "I've never seen Mark like this."
Lillian stirred faintly, a small whimper escaping her lips.
Mark instantly pressed his forehead to hers, relief crashing over him. "Lil… oh thank God…"
The cafeteria fell silent, dozens of eyes watching as her eyes fluttered — not quite open, but alive.
Chelsea swallowed hard, whispering, "Mark… everyone's staring."
But Mark didn't hear her.
His hands cupped Lillian's cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the melting frost. "I've got you," he repeated softly, like a prayer. "You're okay."
And everyone in that cafeteria — staff, testers, devs, even Ms. Steele — saw it:
Mark wasn't acting like a rep.
He wasn't acting like a coworker.
He wasn't acting like someone fulfilling protocol.
He was acting like someone who loved her.
The atmosphere shifted. Quiet, reverent, tense.
It was a moment no one would forget — and one that would spark every rumor afterward.
But right then, none of that mattered to Mark.
Only Lillian mattered.
_____________________________________
Lillian's breathing had stabilized. Her skin, once frighteningly cold, now held the faintest warmth. She stirred, shifting slightly against Mark's chest.
Only then did Mark's body finally begin to crash — trembling now that the adrenaline drained away.
His mind replayed the collapse on loop:
The crack overhead.
The snow swallowing her.
Her limp body in his arms.
The terrifying silence.
He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly.
I almost lost her.
I couldn't… I can't imagine a world without her in it.
He tightened his hold around her blanket-wrapped form, grounding himself in the steady rhythm of her breathing.
The whispers around him faded. The devs, testers — none of that mattered.
Lillian blinked slowly, disoriented, her lashes heavy with melted frost. Warmth surrounded her — real warmth — and the quiet rumble of someone's heartbeat close by.
"Mark…?" Her voice was a soft, hoarse whisper.
Mark froze. Relief flooded him so sharply it nearly hurt. "Lillian. I'm here." He brushed wet strands of hair away from her face with shaking fingers. "You're safe."
She frowned faintly, blinking up at him. It took a moment for her senses to sharpen enough to notice it — his trembling. His breath hitching. The tension still coiled in his shoulders.
"You're… shaking," she murmured.
Mark tried to steady his hands, but another tremor slipped through. "I—I thought I lost you," he admitted, voice breaking. "When I pulled you out, you weren't moving, and—"
She slowly reached up, her fingers brushing his cheek. A grounding touch. "I'm here," she whispered. "I'm okay because of you."
His eyes closed, a shuddering breath escaping him. Her reassurance hit him deeper than she could ever know.
And she held onto his hand as if to anchor him back.