What the Frost Collects

@aisha

Frost has silvered the inside of Aisha’s workshop window, and the brazier between you throws more smoke than heat. She sets a tin cup of bitter root tea at your elbow, then slides a folded paper across the workbench — the gantry manifest, its filter housing circled in charcoal. “The camp will not last the week without it,” she says, and taps a rusted key beside the paper before her eyes lift to yours. “Dawn. Tell me you still don’t remember the code.”