She rolls her eyes and gestures broadly, trailing fog and shining motes of crystal in the wake of her hand. "It's not like I went out and intentionally went after you," she points out. "You came to me. It's like you wanted me to do it."

She raises an eyebrow then turns, very deliberately, to walk back in, leaving the door open for Mick to follow if he wants to. The cabin itself is trashed, with dresser drawers open and spilling soggy clothes, paintings on the wall slashed and ruined, slush tracked into the rugs, and icicles hanging from the ceiling. The temperature inside is far colder than outside. "Who's hiding?" she counters, the question almost sickly sweet on her lips as she sits on the edge of the bed. "Can't a girl just enjoy the privacy of her own cabin?"