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“How did I get here?” I asked instead.

“I found you. In the water,” he said. “Just there.” He pointed toward the back wall of the cabin, which faced the sea.

I must have lost consciousness when I fell. I was lucky I hadn’t drowned.

A memory shimmered below the surface of my mind like a pale fish beneath the water—a hand in mine, walking down toward a rocky beach. But not the same beach. Not the same hand—or was it? I shook my head to clear it. “What is goingonhere?” I asked, more plaintively than I meant to. “Who are you? What was that place? What are thosethings?”

He stopped me, holding up his hand. “This is no way to talk. I will make tea. You sit, rest. Then ask your questions.” He gestured to the small kitchen table. I considered. He wasn’t the man who’d attacked me, but they shared the same face, and the most primal part of me refused to let go of my fear. And even if that had not been true, he was a strange man and he’d taken me here, alone and vulnerable.

A glass lantern hung from the wall on a hook, the smudges on the interior suggesting it wasn’t just decorative. I stared at the miniaturized reflection in its surface.

The man in the reflection wasn’t Mikhail. It was the other one. He had his back to us, and twitches of movement rippled over his body, his limbs, his head jerking an inch to either direction every second or two.

“What do you see?” Mikhail asked with interest.

“Nothing,” I said. I sat down in the chair heavily. “I think I’d like that tea.”

Mikhail spoke as he filled the kettle and set it on the heat. “You have figured out by now that there is something evil on these islands.”

“The Visitors?” I asked.

Mikhail shook his head. “The Visitors belong to it. They merely do as it says.”

“It. You mean the Six-Wing,” I said.

“Yes. The Six-Wing cannot leave the other world,” he said. “The echo world. The Visitors, though, they can slip out.”

“They come when there’s mist,” I said.

“Hm. No. The mist comes with them,” he said. “They are stronger at night. In the dark months. But they come in daylight too.”

“That’s why no one’s allowed here after the summer,” I guessed. “During the summer, there’s no night.”

He nodded. “It is why you must not go out in the mist, or in the night. Sometimes, nothing. You come home, all is well. Sometimes, you do not come home. Sometimes, someone comes home, and it looks like you, and it sounds like you, and it is not you.” He leaned forward, his voice urgent. “You must not trust them. Not even for a moment. Some of them are like animals, worse than animals. They will tear you apart the moment they see you. But others, they have learned to smile. To say, ‘It is all right. Come closer. It is only me, your old friend.’ But you do not trust anyone you meet in the mist. You do not trust a knock on the door. You do not trust the voice you hear, calling for help.”

“Do you...” I swallowed. “Do you know what happened to Joy Novak?”

Something like surprise and something like regret flashed through his eyes. “I know they took her,” he said. “I was only there at the end. The bird people had gone to Belaya Skala. It was not allowed, but smart men are sometimes the greatest fools.”

I blinked a moment, thinking he meant some kind of bird-person monsters I had yet to encounter, but then I realized hemust mean the ornithologists—the LARC staff. “What do you mean, ‘at the end’?” I asked. “What happened at the end?”

“I found you,” he said, as if it was obvious. “I found you in the boat, Sophia. You were all alone, and the others were gone.”

I went still. The fisherman in the story—it was Mikhail? “I need to know,” I said. “I need to know what happened to my mother.”

Mikhail scowled. “You should not be asking these questions. Your mother would want you safe. And you are not safe here. What you can see can also see you. The island has not noticed you yet, but it will. You should go. Leave this place, and stay safe.”

“I have to find her,” I said quietly.

“The people who vanish here do not come back,” he replied. His voice was gentle.

“I did.”

He looked at me a long moment. And then he sighed. “If you won’t leave, I will tell you only to be careful. Do not trust a familiar face just because it is familiar. Some of them have learned to walk outside the mist.”

I knew I would get no more from him. Not now, at least. “Thank you,” I said. “For saving me. Twice, I guess. And for the clothes. Who... whose are they, anyway?”

“They belonged to my wife,” he said.