She went to the chest and picked up the lantern, then fumbled in the dark with the flint and firestone. The lantern sputtered before casting its pale glow over the room.

Daigo yowled again.

“Stop that,” Moria hissed. “We’ll check on the others next. I want to speak to Father.”

As she walked to the mat, her fingers trembled. Despite what she’d said to Daigo, his yowl worried her, and she half expected to see blood-soaked blankets pulled up over her father’s corpse. But he lay there under clean sheets, his eyes closed.

“Father?” she whispered. “It’s Moria. Something’s happened.”

He didn’t move. She rubbed the back of her neck, almost nicking herself with her dagger. She sheathed it, reached out, and shook his shoulder. His head lolled.

“No,” she whispered. “No.”

Her hand flew to his cheek. It was cool.

Because it’s a cold night. That’s all.

She shook him harder, calling him. Then she touched his chest, his neck, searching for some sign of life, finding none.

When Daigo jumped up on the mat, she snarled at him. She would have shoved him if he hadn’t leaped off first. When he gave a long, plaintive yowl of pain and grief, she spun on him, hand raised. Then she realized what she was doing, let out a strangled cry, and dropped to her knees.

Daigo rubbed against her, his sandpaper tongue licking her cheek. She put her arms around him and collapsed against his side. A sob caught in her chest. Her eyes burned and stung, but tears wouldn’t flow. She just hung there over Daigo, gasping.

He’s . . . Father is . . .

Her mind wouldn’t even finish the thought. Like the sob and the tears, it clogged up inside her, stabbing through her chest and her head.

I didn’t take care of him. Didn’t take care of any of them. Levi, Gavril, Father . . .

Father . . .

She doubled over, convulsed in pain.

Then she heard a soft moan. From the sleeping mat. She scrambled up and leaned over to touch her father’s shoulder. He just lay there, head lolling, eyes closed.

“Father?”

He made a sound. Like breath exhaled through clenched teeth. Now the tears came, springing to Moria’s eyes as her hands flew to his chest.

Still no sign of life.

No, you’re mistaken. He is alive. You heard him.

As if in answer, his chest moved. She climbed onto the thick padded mat, leaning down and hugging him as tight as she could, tears flowing free now.

“It’s me,” she said. “It’s me, Fath—”

A noise sounded deep in his chest. A strange, unnatural gurgling, and she released him, falling back, apologies spilling out.

A hiss. Then a noise, unlike anything she’d ever heard before, part moan and part snarl. She caught a flash of claws swiping at her, and pain ripped through her arm.

Claws.