I shuffle away from the icy hole, my whole body trembling,my mind wheeling forward and back, remembering my lips sinking against Oliver’s. Remembering his hands in my hair, the same hands that surely struggled with Max, that forced him into the icy water, that broke the chain of the watch. The same hands that refused to pull Max back up—to save his life. The hands that touched my skin, my collarbone, so close to my throat.
I blink down at the hole one last time, branding it to memory, when I hear the sound of hairline cracks spreading out beneath my feet.
I’ve stood here too long, the hole widening in front of me, pieces of ice bobbing at the surface, some sinking into the dark, dark water below. Shit.I waited too long.
Cold mountain air blows through my hair, and I take several slow, careful steps back—the ice a sheet of glass beneath my feet. Bending, breaking, giving way.
In the distance, I hear my name, carried up and away by the wind—almost not there at all. My head turns slowly, afraid to move, afraid to blink, and I see Oliver standing on the shore, snow whirling around him. He calls my name again, his voice swallowed by the cold.
Fractures spread outward from the hole, little white veins, crisscrossing and separating. I lift one foot and place it behind me, careful and slow. The ice bends away, water bubbling up through the cracks.It’s too thin, my head screams.It’s too late.
I suck in a deep breath, then let it slip out through my nose. My eyes feel huge, unblinking, and I glance at Oliver, a word resting beneath my tongue:Help.But I never get a chance to say it.
In one violent crack, the ice breaks beneath me.
Shatters into a hundred tiny fragments.
And I plummet into the lake.
Blackblackwater. A million knives stabbing my skin, slicing me open. My lungs shrink in on themselves, my hands claw for the surface, already going numb, and I feel my grandmother’s ring—the moonstone she gave me—drift to the end of my finger. I reach for it, almost catch it, but it slips off—sinking, sinking, sinking.No, I want to yell. My eyes shiver open, staring through the dark water, the shock of cold.
I watch the tiny gold band flit down beneath me, into the deep.
My ribs crush my heart, my whole body caving in on itself.I’m in the lake. The cold too cold. My mind slowing…
Above me, the surface of the lake and the moonless sky split open, revealing a palette of stars.So beautiful, I think. A stupid thought—my body, my mind, already going into shock. Heart rate battering against my chest.
I need air, my body screams.Air.
OLIVER
Nora is gone.
Daisy-printed sheets tossed back from her bed, pillow crinkled where her head lay, bits of yellow pollen scattered across the cotton—fallen from the dried flowers hanging over the headboard.
They say she’s a witch, and maybe they’re right.
She thinks I’m a murderer, and maybe she’s not wrong.
I fell asleep when I promised I’d stay awake. And now, the wolf follows me down the stairs, my mind skipping back to earlier—to Nora’s rose-shaped lips pressed to mine, the smell of her hair on my neck, like jasmine and vanilla. I don’t think she knows how much she upends me. How for the briefest moment, the dark of the forest felt very far away. How her fingertips blotted out the cold of the trees that’s always writhing along my joints, twisting around my kneecaps and shoulder blades and down my spine. When she’s close, my memory of that place falls away.
She keeps it at bay.
She’s the only thing that makes me believe maybe I’m not the villain after all. But the hero. Or the one to be saved, rescued from the dark wood.
My part in this tale may not be what I think. A character whose role has not yet been determined.
Downstairs, I find the kitchen dark with no sign of Nora. The fire is out in the woodstove. And then I see it: the dead bolt on the front door slid open.
I yank the door wide and spot the tracks in the snow, leading down to the lake. I run down to the shore and the trees moan and stir, as if sensing the urgency in my steps, the thunder of my lungs sucking in air.
I know something’s wrong before I’ve even reached the lake, before I see Nora standing out on the ice. I call out to her and she looks back, her hair a firestorm—the wind churning up around her, making her look as if she is made of magic.A real witch.A girl with fury at her fingertips—who could command mountains and rivers and time itself.
She turns, glancing over her shoulder, and I can see the look in her eyes—something isn’t right. She seems afraid—reallyafraid for the first time.
And then the ice gives way beneath her. A shudder and a crack and she disappears into the lake.
I run, my heart flattening against my ribs, my feet slipping on the ice.
