Finished my series cover finally (a month late it's fine lmao) still working on the first books cover, too. Much love, supreme adoration and eternally indebted to @hpysprkl for making this piece better by redoing my shitty text for the title.

Chapter Five is finally posted! Special thanks to @hpysprkl for being the best and holding my hand when I needed it, and @taffingtons for listening to me drone on and still decide to help me beta this monster. And for the folks who read/left such nice comments on my prior chapters, you're angels <3.

Much love again to @taffingtons and @hpysprkl for the beta!

New chapter of Winter’s Grip is up!

I almost died between updates, which really felt like an overdramatic method writing exercise but unfortunately was real life.

This is from Chapter Six of Winter's Grip. Since I'm editing (or trying), here's a little snippet :) - - - - - - -

This was what the world shrank to in weather like this—food, shelter, enough heat to keep your blood runny. A war story as old as mammals. She forced her jittering body into stillness, felt the pulse hammer in her throat and jaw as she turned back towards the diner's thoroughfare. Nick had moved to clear a path, taking bags from a couple who looked ready to cry and guiding them toward a booth, returning a dropped mitten to a toddler who'd already thrown it twice.

The hunter from before had left a slick of slush and the smell of gun oil in his wake. She tracked Nick's movements with the detached fascination of someone watching their own disaster unfold in real time—the gestures so casual, so human, it made her feel like her skin was peeling back.

Was this what it was like to be normal? To not second-guess the warmth of a stranger's hand? To just exist in a world where hands helped instead of hurt, where proximity didn't require a risk assessment, where touch was reflex instead of calculation.

She was still standing there, coffee carrier warping further, when Tisha appeared at her shoulder. “So what’s Superman’s story? What Midwest farm did they ship him in from?”

Her answering snort made Tisha’s eyebrows raise. “He’s a Chicago transplant.”