“You didn’t just kill Lily’s mom,” Raven whispered, bringing a blade to Andrew’s throat. “You killed mine.”

22 Snow White

It was the first snowfall of the season. Flurries drifted down from the sky, landing on Raven’s lashes. He loved the snow. Loved the cold. He loved getting bundled up in sweaters and spinning in circles in the school parking lot as the blue sky turned black.

It was four forty-five. He’d just finished his violin lesson, and he was supposed to meet his mother at the pharmacy on the north side of town. This time of year, she’d be brewing hot cider for her customers, and when he burst through the door, teeth chattering and limbs shaking, that cider would warm him up.

If it didn’t, she’d pull him into a hug.

Raven hurried across the parking lot of Rose Hollow Middle School. His black Schwinn was locked up on the rack by the sidewalk, and he struggled to unlock it with gloved hands. He’d seen Belle come to school with a pair of black lace-up glovelets the other day, and he thought he might mimic her and take a pair of scissors to the fingers on his gloves. That would be practical, wouldn’t it?

Finally, the bike came unlocked. Raven swung his leg over the seat, pushing off the ground. This time of year it was dangerous to race down the road, and his heart hammered as he narrowly missed a patch of ice on Main Street. He was nearing the rose gardens in the center of town. There was something about the thorny bushes, stark and lovely against the backdrop of snow, that made him want to climb off his bike and wander through the empty rows. Lately, his home life had become hectic. School had become hectic too, the classrooms overflowing with students.

In the rose gardens, the entire world slowed to a stop.

Raven slid off his bike, wandering in the quiet. It didn’t take long for his heartbeat to calm. His ragged breathing grew even, and the tension in his shoulders gave way. There in the cold, quiet darkness, he felt his entire being exhale for the first time in months.

Raven breathed in, then out. He felt peaceful. Calm. He didn’t know that a man was nearing his mother’s pharmacy, boots trailing snow and breath heavy against the quiet. He didn’t hear the bell chime above the pharmacy door. By the time he climbed back onto his bike, the man had revealed a gun in his jacket, the fat black barrel pointed at Arianna Holloway. By the time the pharmacy was in sight, the shot was already ringing out.