Izzy was there. She hit him, hit him hard. But rage was fueling him now, and he didn’t go down. Mia tried again. “Cash, let me go.”

Over and over the same simple phrase, calm and easy, without raising her hands. The seconds stretched into what felt like hours, but finally Cash released her.

He didn’t throw her, like she’d been expecting. But he didn’t put her down gently, either. Her feet scrambled for purchase, but it was too little, too late. Mia ended up sprawled half on the porch, half in the entryway.

Izzy had her gun out, pointed at Cash, the safety off the weapon. She had been prepared to shoot, and Mia was thankful it hadn’t come even close to that.

Cash was down the stairs, crouched on the cleared path leading up to Edie’s house, rocking, his hands up around his head. “He’s dead.”

Everything was still too sharp, the smell of burning wood somewhere in the forest, the snow against the soles of her feet, the metallic fear lingering in her mouth. The words sliced into her newly vulnerable skin, raw and sensitive from the chemicals flooding her bloodstream.

“Who?” she asked, though she knew. She knew.

“He’s dead,” Cash said again, broken, pale, and sweaty. His voice was that of a little boy’s begging for someone to tell him it wasn’t true. “Earl is dead.”

“Mia?” Izzy hadn’t relaxed her stance, her eyes trained on Cash.

“It’s okay,” Mia said and hoped it was true. She held out a hand to Izzy, gesturing her to lower the gun even as she kept her eyes on Cash. “It’s okay.”

They were all having trouble forming thoughts into anything other than basic sounds, repeated until they sank in.

Mia pressed at her temple with her thumb and concentrated on sitting up, unlocking the muscles that she hadn’t been able to control as well as her voice.

Eventually the cold cut through the shock, and Mia was forced to push herself to her feet. If she started shivering, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to stop.

Izzy had dropped her weapon to her side, but her shoulders were still tense, her feet still braced apart. She was ready to draw again if needed.

Mia approached Cash like she would a wounded animal: careful, slow, deliberate. Once she realized he wasn’t going to lash out, she grabbed his biceps and tugged. If he hadn’t wanted to go, she wouldn’t have been able to make him budge, but he unfolded himself easily, a puppet being pulled up by strings. “Come on.”

She guided them all into the house.

Her hand was firm on Cash’s back as she pushed him down the hallway and then deposited him into one of the chairs in the kitchen. She put on coffee.