I used to love snow. It’s so beautiful and pure. How many freaking worship songs talk about being white as snow? About how sin is wiped away by God’s grace and redemption, just as snow erases any trace of darkness and dirt on earth?

Know what else snow wipes away?

Your missing boyfriend’s footprints.

We could really use a rescue dog right now.

My headlamp bobs, casting wicked shadows along the trail. I think of the night hike Micah and I took, when he told me moonlight was better than any flashlight. I trip on a snow-covered root and mutter a curse. Another reason to hate snow. Its cloud cover blocks the moonlight.

Duke’s headlamp swings back to check on me. “You sure you don’t want to lead? Two lights are better than one,” he says.

I wave him off. “No, thanks. We’ll make more progress with you in front.”

“Are you warm enough?” he asks. I want to roll my eyes at his tone. I’m not the one he should be worried about.

“I’m fine. And I’m plenty sure on my feet. Figure skater, remember? Just keep going. It was only a tree root.”

Duke nods once, making the light swim, and starts forward. I heft my pack. Duke has rations and camping gear in case we get caught overnight. I have the first aid gear that I really, really hope is only a precaution. Every moment that passes in this silent wood, however, makes that hope seem implausible. We’re making slow progress, mostly because Duke is being hypervigilant. The snow dusted over the trail pretty thoroughly, but with the tree cover off trail, he thinks there’s a good chance we’ll see footprints or a disturbance in the powder that hasn’t succumbed to the wind or new flakes.

We’ve been at it an hour and a half, ninety minutes to travel three-quarters of a mile, and there’s no sign of anything; a few false alarms where Duke jogged off trail, only to loop back to me within a minute or so. He’s started speeding up. It’s like following Cash, I imagine. I can’t tell if he’s moving at a faster pace because his gut is telling him we’re on the right track or if, like me, it’s the passing of time. If Micah somehow got hurt …

“I’m gonna start calling out for Cash,” I say. “We only have a quarter mile left.”

Duke releases a sigh, his breath puffing out between us. He didn’t want us to because he was afraid that would give away our position, and if Micah was in danger …

“It’s his dad,” I say softly. “I know he’s a terrible human being, but I can’t imagine he’s going to hurt Micah. We’re running out of time. If Micah were safe, he’d have turned up already.”