There was a night in late January when the temperature dropped below anything Shadowmere's territory usually saw, the specific cold that arrived once every few years and reminded the compound that the territory had limits that weather occasionally enforced regardless of anyone's preferences.
The pipes in the east wing held. The heating in the main building held. Cole had planned for this, because Cole planned for everything — the contingencies existed, the emergency stores existed, the compound adapted to the cold with the calm efficiency of a community that had been building competence into its structure for a very long time.
By evening, with the temperature still dropping, the compound had the specific quality of a cold night well-handled — warm inside, impervious in a way that felt li
