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Suddenly, she picks up a snowball and throws it at me.

It hits me right in the face, caking it.

I gasp, quickly brushing the snow out of my eyes, my nose and hair. When I look down at my hand, it’s smeared with red. Either the snow cut my face, or my nose is bleeding again.

I look up, blinking through frosted white. Amani is gone.

I spin around, looking for her.

“Amani!” I call out.

There are only the trees, their branches now layered with white, like icing sugar. They stand there, stoic observers, giving no insight.

She may have run to the logging road, to the barn, or to the woods, or just back to wherever she came from. But I don’t want to follow her anymore.

I don’t trust her.

I don’t trust my mind.

I don’t trust this place.

CHAPTER 16

I hurrydown the path through the rain, the ferns reaching out and brushing against my jeans, my jacket held above my head in lieu of an umbrella. I’m early for Kincaid’s session, but I didn’t want to waste any time in talking to him, and I’m eager to get out of the rain.

I first took a quick detour to the maintenance yard. After the snow last night, I had to go and check to see if there was any left on the ground. Of course, with the rain, there’s no trace of it.

I’m running across the gravel path when I hear rustling behind me.

I stop, thinking perhaps I’ll see Amani again.

But there’s no one there. Rain drips from the cedars, splashing on the leaves. And yet, I have that uneasy twinge in the base of my skull, the feeling of being watched.

It’s not the first time since I’ve been here that I’ve felt eyes on me, eyes that seem to only be found in the trees.

I start hurrying along again, hating that prickle at the back of my neck, and reach the north dorm. Once under the shelter of the overhang, I shake the water off my jacket, then open the door and step inside, still dripping all over the floor.

Wincing at the puddle I’m leaving, I walk slowly down the hall, careful not to slip, when I notice Kincaid’s door is open a crack.

I’m about to knock when I hear Everly from inside.

“She’s different,” Everly says with a heavy sigh.

I gulp, hoping they’re not talking about me.

I lean in closer to the door, trying to hear.

“She’s better now,” Kincaid says.

“You would say that” is Everly’s snippy remark.

“She’s better,” Kincaid repeats, his voice hard. “Her appetite has returned.”

Fuck. They are talking about me.

“I bet it has,” she comments.

“What isthatsupposed to mean?”