A long, low horn cuts through the night, and I look around. Somehow the whole amphitheater has filled with fog. It must have been creeping in on us, and I didn’t even notice. Because right here, where Cole and I are, there’s a little pocket of light.

And heat.

So much heat.

I remember what Willa told us yesterday morning, on the front porch of the farmhouse. We know what we are, but not what we may be.

I’ve only been here a few days, but I already feel myself becoming. Like Willa said.

I hand Cole another page. He flicks the lighter under his thumb. Then he holds the paper in his hand while we watch it burn.

And I’m not afraid anymore.

When we run out of things to light, we blow away the ashes together. They float up toward the sky. Get lost in the dark. Then Cole walks me back to my cabin.

We stop on the steps and look at each other. Neither of us seems sure where this goes now.

“Is that something you’ve done before?” he asks me. He’s leaning against the railing. Gray eyes lit up by the porch light. “Starting fires?”

“A couple of times,” I admit. But that’s not really the truth. Because I do it pretty often.

“Why?” There’s no judgment in the question, or in the way he’s looking at me. Just curiosity.

“To make sure I’m not dead.”

Cole nods. “I walk along the edge of the cliff,” he tells me. “Sometimes I close my eyes and take ten steps. Or twelve. Fifteen, if it’s really bad. Right along the very edge. Just to feel that rush.” I’m staring at him, and he shrugs. “It’s better than some of the other things I used to do.”

“It never helps for very long,” I tell him. “The cold always comes back.”

Cole reaches over and takes my hand. He laces his fingers through mine. I wasn’t expecting that, and it makes my stomach flip-flop again. He squeezes hard.

“Do you feel that?” he asks. And I nod. “You’re not dead, Avril. And neither am I.” He gives me a half smile. “Not yet, anyway.”

The heat of him travels all the way up my arm. That’s the effect Cole Culver has on me. Just that little touch can spark a fire. No lighter required. And the truth is that I’m more afraid of that than I could ever be of ghosts.

But I don’t pull away.

And he doesn’t let go. Not until he gives my hand one more squeeze.

Then he leaves me standing on the front porch, and even after he disappears into the night, I feel warm.

Later, though, my old nightmare sneaks in on the fog. It finds me in my bunk and tangles its wet fingers in my hair.