The Sliva gorge was a black abyss between the village and the old train station, a trench that cut more than three hundred feet into the forest. That night, the path that threaded its way through the woods and down to the gorge was dotted with police flashlights, twinkling pinpricks bobbing in the dark like fireflies in winter, zigzagging their way to the bottom in single file.

The kids led the way, followed by Teresa and Marini, who were in turn followed by the rest of the squad and Hugo Knauss’s men.

Lucia, Mathias, and Diego were skipping down the path like mountain goats, never losing their footing even on that precarious surface. But Oliver had chosen to grab hold of Teresa’s hand, and would not let go. She stored up on the warmth and tenderness of that contact, such a stark contrast to the frigid landscape that surrounded them. The gorge was a steep fissure that led to a rocky riverbed, where the water had now almost stilled; it was so cold that even the stream had slowed down, and slabs of ice clung to the banks. Mist floated and curled over the water. Wind-carved stalactites hung from boulders and tree branches. It was like coming across the ruins of a world long gone. Teresa felt as if theirs were the only hearts beating down there. It was a disquieting, haunting sensation that made her understand, for the first time in her life, what claustrophobia might feel like.

The children led the way across rope bridges and down slippery steps. They moved with absolute confidence and no trace of fear. The night had no power over their minds; they were in communion with the wild landscape and had not yet become domesticated enough to fear it.

Teresa watched them face darkness and death, on that grimmest of nights, and saw a calm strength in them that was a testament to their spirit. She followed them trustingly, and though she kept watch over every step they took, she knew she was the one who needed to tread with caution, not them.

She thought of the worries that had besieged her in recent days, and all of a sudden they did not seem so insurmountable. It was up to her to decide how to live the rest of her life, and there were two ways to do it: by gradually fading away or standing up to it undeterred.

They crept through another gap in the rocks, and in that damp, musty blackness, Teresa saw her life suspended. Oliver’s hand in hers squeezed harder.

“Don’t be scared,” she heard him say, his voice amplified in the tunnel.

“I won’t be,” she replied, and those words seemed to apply to so much more than what was happening in that moment.