Long after the stockings are hung and the world has gone still, a quiet jingle echoes through the night. The door creaks open, letting in the crisp scent of evergreen and cold air and just beneath it, the warmth of amber, leather, and cedarwood. He’s been here, Saint Nick himself, leaving behind more than gifts. The room glows with the comfort of his presence: the scent of winter woods, worn gloves, and a touch of holiday magic that lingers until morning. 🎅