The walls of the School seemed to close in on her, the cold was suddenly more biting, and Magdalena felt her determination slipping away like the water from Marie’s wet hands. She retreated. Not out of fear, but from the knowledge that she was alone and unarmed, facing a fortress that could outlast any siege.

She thought not for the first time that the School was a living organism that was now rejecting her as a potentially dangerous foreign body.

She walked out, away from all those hostile gazes. Back in her room, she pulled down her suitcase from the top of the wardrobe and filled it haphazardly with her few possessions. She was certainly going to miss the substantial salary paid by the School. It had felt like a blessing. But now she knew what the money was really for: to buy her silence.

She stopped as she was about to put on her coat.

She suddenly realized that saying nothing at all only ever helps the executioner, never the victim. What would her escape be if not the latest contribution to the conspiracy of silence that reigned within those walls?

She let go of her coat and sat on the bed. The springs creaked under her weight.

She was not going to run away. She was not going to abandon them. She was only going to leave if she could take them with her. All she needed was time. Time and proof.

-18-

-18-

The millennial forest of Travenì echoed with the steady dripping of water and the muffled rustle of snow slipping from overburdened tree branches. All else was silence. The freezing cold seemed to have placed life on hold and stilled its songs for a few months.

Teresa carefully picked her way along the path marked out by the forensics team to make sure she didn’t accidentally compromise any evidence. Walking behind her, Marini did the same. He had tried to help her once or twice when she’d seemed about to slip on some treacherous patch of ice, but Teresa had batted his hand away.

“Maybe it’s not the same guy. It could just be some pervert, not the killer,” she heard him say.