Now and then he saw glimmering lights in the forest as the headlights were reflected by the eyes of the forest animals. Christian wondered if he was seeing deer or moose. He knew that it wasn’t wild boar—their eyes didn’t reflect light, making them difficult to spot in the dark.

But he also knew that the wild boar population was increasing every year, that it wasn’t going to be possible to stop the spread of this animal. Or the accidents they caused.

The first time Christian hit a wild boar, he was in his Volkswagen Passat. He had made two serious mistakes. The first was driving far too fast, which made the impact unnecessarily hard.

The second was that he had immediately stopped the car after the accident to check on the animal. The wild boar had lain down, but it had still been conscious. It had gotten up and attacked. Wild boars have large tusks that are sharp as knives.

He had paid for that mistake with thirty-seven stitches on his leg.

When Christian came out of the curve on Highway 209 toward Brytsbo, he was going fairly quickly. The thunderous sound of the plow filled the cab as the snow was scraped up from the ground and swept to the side.

He felt fatigue setting in and starting humming to keep himself awake for the last two hours of this late shift.

Suddenly, he saw a shadow and braked as quickly as he could.

Someone was on the road.

Christian pulled to the side of the road, turned off the plow and got out of the cab.

* * *

She had to say it.

Or maybe it was better to leave his apartment and never come back again, never answer her phone again. Maybe in spite of everything, it was better to go home—alone.

Mia Bolander had never liked being alone. She always preferred the company of others—at work, in her free time, in bed. But to keep things going with Martin Strömberg just so she wouldn’t have to be alone was not a good idea, not good at all. It would be better to find another guy, or rather a man. She wasn’t made for relationships longer than one-night stands. That’s just how it was.

But just now, she didn’t want to think about what she should say to him, how she should say it to end things with him, to break up.

They lay in his double bed, naked. Mia’s head was resting on his chest.

“You’re so quiet, Mia,” he said. “You look almost secretive. Are you with the secret service?”

He chuckled as if it were the first time he’d said that. “And I can’t stop laughing,” he continued. “You looked so funny when you and your colleague came to my door.”

He was laughing now, way too loud.

“I know. You’ve said,” Mia said.