Twelve watched him with a sinking heart. “I think we should stay here tonight,” she said unwillingly to Six and Dog. “We can go into the forest at first light, give Five time to gather his strength.” It took a moment, but eventually they nodded in agreement. Part of Twelve wished they hadn’t, that they’d insisted the group press on.

Surefoot and Dog began digging a cave into the packed snow of the slope, as far from the tree line as they could get. The Guardian muttered to himself as he worked. “Bossed around . . . low point . . . never in centuries . . .”

“You know we can hear you when you do that?” Twelve asked, mildly offended.

Dog coughed, looking embarrassed. “Oh.” The muttering stopped.

When the work was finished, Surefoot was settled at the back of the dugout with a nosebag. Five, Six, and Twelve laid their oilskins in front of her and leaned back against her steaming side, trying to get warm. Dog stayed outside, pacing, his eyes scanning the forest and slope. A fire was out of the question: burning forest wood was said to have unpleasant consequences and none of them wanted to risk it.

Five fell asleep almost immediately and Twelve felt something akin to jealousy prickle her. The dread of her dreams was back in full force—there was no rest for her, not even in sleep.

Six was chewing mechanically beside her, staring out at the forest as the first stars appeared above it.

“Worried about the dream milk thing?” he asked, without looking at her. There was a studied indifference in his voice that should have annoyed Twelve, but she was too tired to react. Instead of giving him a piece of her mind, she shrugged.

“Do you think Seven’ll be all right tonight?” she countered, nodding toward the forest.

Six considered her, his chewing paused. “I didn’t know that you two were close,” he said eventually.

“I could say the same about you,” Twelve responded.

Six nodded slowly. “Fair point,” he said. Then, “What do you think about Five?”

Twelve winced. “Cliffcrawler venom is powerful,” she whispered. “I think he’ll get a lot worse before he gets better.”

“If he gets better at all,” Six said unsteadily, voicing what they both feared.

“We need to keep him eating and drinking,” Twelve hurried on, aware of a sudden humming tension in Six. “We won’t let him fade away.”

“I don’t need much to keep me going,” Six whispered. “He can have my rations.”

“And mine,” Twelve agreed quickly.

“Thank you,” Six whispered, reaching out to squeeze her arm. “I’m glad you’re here.”

A rush of emotion flooded Twelve, stealing her breath and prickling her eyes. It had been two years since anyone had said anything like that to her. She hesitated, then whispered, “I’m glad you’re here too.”

It was so dark that they couldn’t see each other’s smile.