What little heat the day had was fading away fast, chasing the light as it headed west. The chill cut through the thin sweater, working its way through the knit gaps as a hundred tiny daggers of ice. Remembering an old movie, they’d torn out their pocket linings to wear as makeshift gloves, only to find that they offered little warmth once the sweat had soaked in. The unlined pockets funneled arctic air in as well, and soon the only part of their body they could feel was their tongue.

Hypothermia stalked in the distance, with a chilling death lurking behind it as a grim shadow.

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