The news said it was going to be the coldest night the city had ever seen. And for a place that basically lived in winter year-round, that actually meant something.

  Celia had heard it on the radio while cleaning up the front counter at The Green Tea Café. She didn’t take it too seriously at first. News always exaggerated things, didn’t it?

  But now, standing outside in the dark, clutching a paper cup of cocoa with both hands, she could feel it in her bones. The wind was sharp and mean. The snow looked soft, but it was packed down hard like ice, crunching under her boots.

  Tony, her manager, stood in the doorway, not ready to let her go just yet. He was the kind of guy who never raised his voice and always gave out free muffins at closing. “Celia,” he said, “I’ll drive you. You’ll freeze out there.”

  She smiled at him, the kind of smile that made people stop arguing. “I’ll be fine, Tony. It’s only a few blocks.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s too cold for anyone to be walking. Seriously. Let me take you.”

  She shook her head and held up the cocoa like a small trophy. “I need the walk. Tonight’s the last night of the old year. I start something tomorrow.”

  Tony raised an eyebrow. “Something like what?”

  She hesitated. “It’s kind of a personal thing. A personal project, if you will.”

  He sighed. “Alright. But if you don’t show up tomorrow, I’m blaming the weather.”

  Celia waved goodbye and stepped out into the dark.

  The wind hit her immediately. She blinked against it, head down, scarf pulled over her mouth. The snowflakes were heavy and wet, sticking to her coat and eyelashes.

  She kept both hands wrapped around the cup still full to the brim of warm, tasty cocoa. It was hot, almost too hot to hold, and it kept her focused.

  The drink was more than just comfort: it was her thing. Her ritual. The thing that made Celia Celia.

  Cocoa had been her favorite since she was a kid. Not just in winter. Not just when she was sad. Every day, every mood, every version of herself, there was always a cup.

  While everyone else had moved on to coffee, tea, or even beer after school, Celia stuck with cocoa. Always cocoa. Didn’t matter if she was happy, tired, angry, sick, whatever. Cocoa was the one thing that never let her down. It was a small promise she could make to herself every day. Something warm. Something steady.

  But this year, that little promise got harder to keep.

  First, there was some random cocoa bean shortage. Some issue with the supply chain or weather or whatever.

  Suddenly, all the good cocoa brands Celia loved disappeared from the shelves, and she spent a couple of weeks walking around with a headache and a bad mood, trying to pretend she didn’t miss it that much.

  Then came the college talk. Everyone at school started obsessing over applications and entrance exams. It felt like the only thing anyone could talk about.

  “What school are you applying to?”

  “I’m aiming for Holt. My boyfriend’s going there.”

  “No way, Holt’s expensive. Plus, it’s all nerds and no cute guys. Celia, what about you?”

  Celia had no idea. She couldn’t think that far ahead. College was more like a planet she hadn’t been invited to.

  She didn’t care about brochures or boyfriend campuses or what her GPA said about her. She just wanted her cocoa. Just wanted something warm in a city that always felt cold, no matter the season.

  Tomorrow, she’d start Project 365. One new cup of cocoa every day for a whole year. No repeats. No excuses. She’d been writing recipes for weeks, taping notes to her wall, testing different combinations at the café after hours.

  But none of that would matter if she didn’t get home tonight.

  Two blocks in, she already felt the cold getting past her coat. Her knees ached. Her nose burned. She kept moving.

  She passed a bus stop, a parked car, the tiny dog statue someone had dressed in a scarf. She knew this neighborhood like the back of her hand. But that didn’t make it easier.

  Her vision blurred. Her legs felt heavier. The heat from the cocoa was fading fast.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  She kept walking.

  Just a little more, she told herself.

  Just a little more.

  Then, her body betrayed her.

  Her knees buckled and she hit the snow. The cup slipped from her fingers and rolled away. Cocoa splashed into the snow and froze in seconds.

  Her blue eyes were still open, staring up at the dark sky. Snow landed on her lashes. The cold stopped hurting.

  On the last night Celia Goldberg was alive, all she could think about was how the cocoa in her hand stayed warm against her cheek, like someone trying to hold her close.

  —----

  A few hours later, two police officers stood by the side of a narrow road near the edge of the suburbs. Snow spun around them in the beam of their flashlights, and their breath fogged in front of their faces.

  “Coldest damn night I’ve ever worked,” Officer Brennan muttered, stomping his boots into the ground to get the numbness out. “What kind of kid walks around in this weather?”

  Officer Lin crouched in the snow beside the body. “A stubborn one,” he said quietly. “Or one who didn’t have a choice.”

  The girl was young. Sixteen, maybe seventeen. Thin frame. Blonde hair splayed out like thread in the frost. She had a simple beige coat and scarf on, with small winter boots stuck firmly to her feet.

  Her eyes were still open, staring emptily at the dark sky above them.

  “Looks like hypothermia. No signs of trauma,” Lin said, pulling on a pair of gloves to check her pockets. “No phone. No ID. Just this.”

  He gently pried her hand open. It was frozen stiff around a paper cup. The cocoa inside had solidified into a brown chunk of ice. The rim of the cup was stuck to the side of her face.

  Brennan shook his head. “Why would she be holding on to that cup so tightly?”

  Lin didn’t respond right away. He looked at her face, pale and peaceful under the frost. There was something soft in her expression. Not fear. Just… stillness.

  “She couldn’t have been out here long,” he said. “Maybe an hour. Max.”

  “No tire tracks. She walked all the way out here.” Brennan squinted up the empty road. “This doesn’t feel like a random accident.”

  They both stood in silence for a moment, listening to the wind.

  “Her family would be worried sick by now, I reckon,” Lin finally said. “I know I would.”

  Brennan zipped up the body bag slowly, careful not to tug too hard on the stiff edges of her clothing. “Yeah. But we’ll tell them in the morning,” he said. He spoke again after a second, a little quieter. “No use waking anyone up just to ruin the rest of their night.”

  He paused, looking once more at the frozen cup still pressed against the girl’s face inside the bag.

  “She must’ve really loved that cocoa.”

  Then they lifted her into the back of the cruiser and drove off through the empty, snow-covered streets.

  —----

  Seventeen year old Aaron couldn’t sleep.

  He was curled up in bed under five layers of thick blankets. His room still felt like a freezer. He wore three jackets, two pairs of socks, and a warm beanie.

  None of it helped. The house felt cold in a way that heat couldn’t fix.

  He picked up his phone and checked the screen again.

  Nothing.

  He tried texting her.

  you okay?

  did you stay at the café?

  text me when you see this.

  He waited a few minutes. The three little dots never showed up.

  “Where are you, Celia?” he whispered.

  Celia was his stepsister. Technically. They weren’t related by blood, but they’d lived together for three years now.

  His dad married her mom, and for the first few months, they barely spoke. But something changed after that first winter.

  Celia had made cocoa for both of them when they were sick with the flu. It was the first time someone had made something just for him without asking for anything in return.

  Since then, they've gotten closer. She talked, he listened. She teased him about his grumpy mornings. He reminded her to actually sleep during exams. It was quiet, but it was solid.

  At school, they barely acknowledged each other. Aaron was a grade ahead, drifting through the hallways with his own crowd, and Celia had hers.

  But every so often, on days when the weight of the world sat a little heavier on his shoulders, she’d be there, waiting just outside his classroom door, holding out a steaming cup of cocoa.

  She never said much, just gave him a soft smile, the signature Celia smile that said, I know today sucked.

  And he’d take the cup without a word, let the warmth sink into his chest like it could fix something broken inside him. Then they’d walk home side by side, no talking, just the sound of their footsteps and the city around them.

  Every now and then, when the cocoa was especially perfect (and it usually was, because Celia made it that way) he’d awkwardly pat her on the head, trying to learn how to be someone’s brother.

  He’d always been an only child, clueless when it came to that kind of thing. But then again, so had Celia. And yet, like her cocoa, she always seemed to be there: reliable and warm, waiting with that chipped mug cradled in both hands.

  Their parents were out of town for a weekend conference, so it was just the two of them at home. Aaron had stayed up waiting for her. He made cocoa the way she liked it: extra cinnamon, no marshmallows. He left it on the counter in her favorite green mug.

  He got out of bed, slippers dragging on the floor, and made his way to the kitchen. The air felt heavier and still.

  The mug was right where he left it. Not even a sip taken. Untouched.

  She should’ve been home hours ago. She never ignored his texts, not on nights like this. Especially not when it was the coldest night ever recorded.

  He picked up the mug and held it in his hands. It was ice cold.

  That was when the feeling hit him. Something was wrong.

  Really wrong.

  And this time, no amount of hot cocoa was going to fix it.