Wren crawled out of bed, retrieved her coat from beside the banked fire, and pulled it on as she made her way downstairs. The floorboards in the lobby creaked under her weight, the only sound apart from the faint crackle of logs in the fireplace. It was early, but there should have been more activity. Perhaps the smell of rendering fat from the kitchen, or the tread of footsteps overhead as the other guests awoke. Just as she remembered it two weeks ago, the place was too silent, as if it were hardly meant to operate as an inn at all.

Wren approached the window and pressed her hand to the glass. Outside, past the fog of her breath, she could see the pinkening sky uncovered by clouds, the breathtakingly blue peaks of the Dramlach Mountains. At last, the storm had broken. The town slept—all but the innkeeper. In the distance, at the end of a trench in the snow, the glow of a lantern illuminated him as he split logs with an echoing thunk of his ax.

Perfect.

Hal mentioned he’d found shipment records from here to Colwick Hall, but she wanted to confirm it herself. Taking a last surreptitious look around the room, Wren ducked behind the reception desk. At her back was a locked door, which likely led to an office or the innkeeper’s living space, and a wooden board from which they hung the room keys. For now, she’d try the drawers.

She opened one, and as she began to rifle through the papers, an oddly familiar voice sent her stomach plummeting with fear. “Miss? What’re you doing?”

Stay calm, she told herself. Lie.

But when she lifted her head, she froze. Carrying an armful of firewood was a boy, no older than twelve, with sandy blond hair and a smattering of freckles. His apprehension snapped into recognition. Then she saw her own terror reflected in his eyes.

The boy with the broken arm. The boy who had cost her everything. The missing evidence that connected Lowry to her comrades’ disappearances.

“It’s you.” It tore out of her, violent and unrestrained.

His hands went slack, and the wood clattered to the ground, loud as a roll of thunder. She hardly had a chance to blink before he bolted toward the door.

Not this time. She wouldn’t lose him again.

He stumbled over the firewood, buying her precious time. Wren slid out from beneath the counter and tore after him as he scrambled to his feet—and ran smack into Hal. They both staggered back from the force.

“Excuse me,” Hal said.

He glanced back and forth between them. As he registered the boy’s terror and her anger, his confusion became apparent. Wren seized the boy by the back of his collar before he could wriggle free. He opened his mouth to scream.