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We don’t take the path. They’ll be looking for us—for me. Our only advantage is that there are still people here who would ask questions if they were too obvious about it. Subtlety will slow them down.

And Connor knows this mountain.

It’s beautiful out here , I think. The sun has broken through the clouds and the fresh snow glitters and gleams in every direction. The stately trees are robed in pale finery, the deep emerald of the evergreens peering through.

We lived in an enchanted forest, my mother and I. For a little while.

Connor looks back at me, and I remember it again, spinning in the snow—laughter bubbling, going faster and faster. Despite everything, despite the knowledge of what is pursuing us, I smile, and Connor’s lips bend in answer, and for a brief moment it is just the two of us beneath this canopy of branches, and this place is as magical as it was meant to be.

But we can’t stop. This isn’t that sort of fairy tale. Not the one with the princess singing to woodland creatures and the prince who rides to her rescue, but the kind where witches dance on hot coals and farmer girls have their hands cut off by their loving fathers.

“This way,” Connor says. It’s the first either of us have spoken, and the sound sends a black crow into flight, croaking its discontent. Our path bends. We’re heading downhill now, and the going is easier. We come to the road. It’s untroubled by wheel treads, which I decide to take as a good sign. We travel parallel to a set of heavy tracks leading in a single direction—the opposite of the one we’re taking. So Vance is gone, and he hasn’t returned.

More good news. Which ought to be a sign that our luck can’t last, but still I’m beginning to hope that we will be away and free in moments when the sound of an engine rumbles in the middle distance.

Connor pauses only long enough to look at me, both of us confirming in that moment what we heard, and then we speed up.

The engine is definitely getting closer. I almost cry out in relief as the side of Vance’s cabin comes into view. We sprint for the UTV, which is sitting parked right where I saw it last.

“Keys?” Connor says.

“Inside?” I suggest. Connor runs to the door. Locked. He takes his gloved fist and without a second’s hesitation punches through a window beside the door. He reaches through, ignoring the shards of glass left behind, and screws up his face as he contorts his arm to get at the lock. There.

I run past him. The keys. Where did Vance put the keys? I have a vague memory of a drawer opening, a clink of metal. I run to the tiny kitchen area and start yanking drawers open and there they are. I toss them to Connor and follow him out.

The motor is not a growl but a roar now, and still getting closer. Whoever it is must have seen our tracks and guessed where we were going.

Connor straddles the UTV. I sling a leg over behind him and wrap my arms around his middle as he starts it up. He doesn’t give me any warning before the vehicle surges forward with a deafening snarl of the engine.

“Hold on!” he yells. We slew to the left and down the road.

This is not like the road we took to get up here. It’s narrow and winding and it drops on one side with barely two inches to spare, and it would be terrifying even without the snow masking it and the other vehicle still getting closer. Connor jerks the handlebars to bring us around a sharp turn and I look over my shoulder and see the dark forest green of the other UTV, and Nick riding it.

“Connor,” I say in a tone of warning.

“I know!” He slows as we approach another turn. Nick doesn’t. The slope slices away to our left, a short, sharp drop and snow-scattered rocks at the bottom.

I twist, looking back at Nick again. He’s stopped. For a moment I’m elated, and then confused—and then I watch as he takes the rifle from his shoulder. Levels it.

“Gun!” I scream as the first shot rings out. Connor’s hands jerk and so does the UTV. Something pings against the rocks beside us. Missed, he missed , I think, and then a second shot splits the air, and Connor gives a startled grunt. He lurches forward in his seat. The UTV swerves.

Toward the edge.

Over it.

I lose my grip. First I’m falling through nothing, and then my shoulder crunches against the ground and I’m tumbling down the slope. I wrap my arms around my head just as I slam into the rocks at the bottom.

All the breath goes out of me. My vision fills with bright lights. I lie in the snow, stunned, my face pressed against the ground. I can’t move. I can’t think. I can’t see where Connor has landed.

The sun is nearly gone. And in that near darkness, a single light shines above. Too bright to be a star, I think. It’s not supposed to look like that.

And for a moment, the present slips away, and I exist only in memory.

The man hasn’t moved in a long time. Not since he fell. For a while his body offered hers some warmth, but all of it is gone now. The amber glow of the star remained longer, but she can no longer keep her eyes open. She can no longer move at all.

Some part of her marks the crunch of footsteps, the voice, low and angry—

“What did you do?”

“He came at me. I was defending myself.”

“And the girl? She come at you, too?”

“I didn’t touch her.”

“How long have you been standing there?”

Silence. A disgusted sound and then hands on her body, on her neck. Fingers pressed against her throat, and more quiet. “She’s dead.”

The voice is wrong, of course. There is still, deep in her chest, the faintest flicker of a heartbeat. The cold is killing her, but its work isn’t done yet.

“What are we going to do?”

“We? You’re the one who did this.”

“Am I?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Maybe you don’t give a shit about me, Dad. But what about your darling granddaughter?”

“Get Vance. We need to clean this up.”

The cold sinks through me. The single star glares, so bright it’s nearly blinding, and for a muddled instant I can’t remember where—when—I am. The light isn’t the glowing end of a cigarette but the headlight of the UTV, and the silhouette cutting through it is Nick. He has to turn to face the slope to descend safely, his back to me. Farther along the hillside, I can make out Connor’s brown coat, the bulk of his body. He isn’t moving.

Unconscious, I tell myself. Not dead. He can’t be dead.

My hand is by my pocket. I dip my fingers inside. The knife is still there. I draw it out. My numb fingers fumble with the blade, but then it’s open. Nick reaches the bottom of the slope. I let my arm lie limp, the knife itself hidden in the pocket. I keep my eyes shut to slits and I don’t move. Don’t breathe.

“Teddy,” Nick says softly. “Teddy, can you hear me?” He steps so close I can feel him. His boots scrape as he crouches down, leans over me. “You still alive, Teddy?” he asks, and grabs my shoulder, pulling me over. I make my body stay limp. He grunts. Strips the glove from his hand. Reaches for the side of my neck.

The knife comes out of my pocket. I drive upward, shoving against the hard ground with my other hand. The blade goes in under his armpit and he howls, throwing himself backward. The knife comes free with a liquid sound, and ignoring the sharp pain in my back, my shoulder, my neck, I scrabble upright and launch myself at him.

No use going for the heart. Too many bones in the way; I learned that lesson once.

The throat will do.

He gets a hand up. Gets a blade through his palm for his trouble, and this one’s harder to pull out. He’s clawing for the rifle, but it’s trapped under him. He’s out of good hands. Closes the bloodied one around my neck anyway and squeezes hard. Instead of pulling away, I go slack. The sudden weight takes him by surprise. His elbow collapses and then we’re face-to-face and there’s nothing between me and the soft skin of his throat.

“Should have made sure I was dead,” I tell him. And I drive the knife up beneath his jaw.