Chapter 4 — The Compass and the Scarf

Claire

The morning in Iceland dawned in muted shades of gray, the pale light filtering through the frosted windows of the airport hotel. Claire tightened the belt of her wool coat and stepped outside, her breath catching as the icy wind swept across her face. The cold was bracing, sharp against her skin, but she didn’t retreat. She stood still, letting the raw stillness of the landscape seep into her. The snow-covered plains stretched endlessly, broken only by the jagged silhouettes of volcanic rock formations in the distance. It was a world unapologetically bare, its starkness scraping against the polished surface of the life she had so carefully constructed.