It's hours past midnight and the sun is relentless in the sky when Charlie returns, freezing and long-faced, to the cabin. Whatever fantasies he entertained about not coming back are irrelevant to the fact that he was always going to.

He didn't grab gloves or scarf before he left, only a coat hanging next to the exit, and so the front door rattles somewhat when he takes his hands out of that coat and manipulates the knob with shaking fingers. The wind is very cold.

But otherwise, he's being quiet. When it got late, he left it even later, to allow any bouts of insomnia to maybe run their course. He's hoping that nobody is still awake and he can slip inside unseen.