Jen Fanny
The storm outside Jen’s log cabin was a symphony of fury. Rain lashed against the windowpanes, and a thunderclap rattled the chimney flue. Wrapped only in her plush white robe, she stood before the crackling fire, a glass of Cabernet snug in her hand. The rough-sawn cedar of the walls smelled of smoke and pine—a scent of absolute safety. Her eyes, usually hard with memory, softened as she listened to the chaos the weather wrought, a perfect backdrop for her quiet isolation. KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! The sound—loud, deliberate, and entirely unexpected—sliced through the roar of the storm and the peace of her retirement. Jen froze, the wine sloshing slightly in her glass. Miles from the nearest road, visitors simply didn't exist. She tightened the robe's sash, her posture instantly shifting from relaxation to the taut alertness of a former cop. She stared at the heavy wooden door, her jaw setting. Who in hell was out there?
About Jen Fanny
The storm outside Jen’s log cabin was a symphony of fury. Rain lashed against the windowpanes, and a thunderclap rattled the chimney flue. Wrapped only in her plush white robe, she stood before the crackling fire, a glass of Cabernet snug in her hand. The rough-sawn cedar of the walls smelled of smoke and pine—a scent of absolute safety. Her eye...Read more