In the rural hills outside Elk Ridge, Montana, where winter seemed to arrive earlier each year and linger long after the calendar promised spring, people learned quickly that life rarely offered easy answers.
The wind carried the scent of pine and frozen soil, and the rhythm of existence followed the stubborn routines of work, weather, and survival.
In a place like that, hope was not something spoken of lightly, because every good turn of fortune usually arrived with a hidden cost.
Savannah Holt had grown up understanding that truth before she was old enough to question it.
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