It was still dark when Mia rapped her knuckles against the doorframe of the den. Izzy was a lump of limbs and blankets on the couch, and she burrowed in deeper at the sound.

Her injured arm hung off the cushions, her fingertips dragging along the carpet. Mia had fed her some ibuprofen last night, but by this morning Izzy was sure to be in pain.

If Mia had felt like being kind, she would have let Izzy sleep. But her legs throbbed with the need to go, find, hunt. There was someone on the island who was comfortable shooting at cops, and whether that person was their killer or not, they needed to be stopped.

Mia just foolishly, so foolishly, wished doing that wouldn’t have led them to Lacey Bell’s doorstep.

There was no pretending she hadn’t been avoiding her. Lacey was a reminder of that night, of that summer, of Monroe and Asher, and everything Mia desperately wanted to forget.

But she’d put it off as long as she could.

Mia knocked against the wood again, louder this time, and Izzy lifted her head, her messy pink hair a neon beacon. “Jesus, is it even dawn yet, Hart?”

It was, but only just. “I have coffee made,” Mia said instead of answering.

By the time Mia returned with a thermos for Izzy, the woman had managed to slip on real clothes and was attempting to tie up her boots with one hand.

“Does it hurt?” Mia asked, but didn’t offer to help. And something told her Izzy wasn’t eager to go to Sammy to have him check it out, either.

Protocol dictated that they report the injury. Mia had tried that morning using the landline, and the call had gone straight to voice mail. She’d hung up without leaving a message. If Murdoch tried calling them back and got nothing but an empty house or static on their cell phones, she’d probably send in the Coast Guard to rescue them. Better to wait to explain the situation when she actually picked up.

Izzy huffed, straightening and eyeing the mess that was her laces. “Nah. Just a scratch.”

Mia nodded, and then they settled into silence until they were outside, crossing the backyard, disturbing the pristine blanket of white.

This was Mia’s favorite part of the day. The snow was still pure in most places, the dinginess of real life turning only some of the fringes gray. The sky was an inky purple that faded into pink and gold. The air was crisp, almost renewed from the night before. It was peaceful.

But Mia liked this time best because it came. Every night when her blood went hot and her skin itched and her mind crawled in circles over shards of glass, she knew, knew if she hung on, that morning would come.

Fresh and clean and cool.

She breathed it in, she breathed it out.