“But we’re going to,” I said forcefully. “I’m going to fix him, you’ll see. We’re so close.”

Millie’s downcast eyes reflected the firelight, flickering orange. In the distance, an owl hooted, and a draft of cool air blew through the entrance to the room.

“We both know I’d make a terrible counsellor,” I said softly, “but trust me on this: you never needed to earn Finn’s forgiveness. And when you see him again, he’ll tell you that himself.”

She breathed out slowly.

“Hope is a dangerous thing,” she murmured. “But I want you to be right.”

CHAPTER

FORTY-TWO

Once Millie had eaten a little, she seemed to relax. Despite the missing roof, the space between the mossy old walls had grown warmer and it was almost cozy. I tended to the fire, then laid out the ground sheets and blankets. When Millie set down her cup, I pushed her to the warmest corner, furthest away from the entrance.

“I’ll join you soon,” I said. “I just have to help Osan finish packing for tomorrow.”

She nodded. “El?”

“Yes?”

She looked down. “No matter what happens, thank you for trying.”

I stooped and kissed the top of her head. “Get some sleep.”

Osan was rearranging the supplies for a fourth time while pretending that he had not heard our conversation. His face was drawn and tired; he seemed older than when we had first met.

“I want to talk to you,” he muttered as I joined him. “Alone.”

I made a subtle questioning gesture.

“It isn’t an emergency. Just want to ask you something.”

I glanced over at Millie. She had curled up on her side with the blanket tight around her. Her eyes were shut.

“In a few minutes,” I said.

He nodded.

I carefully filled our canteens from the pot, then collected more water from the edge of the jetty. The moon had yet to rise, and the lake beyond the boathouse was vast and dark and quiet. The water lapped against the smooth stones at the base of the house.

I returned to the fire and set the pot back over the flames. Millie’s breathing had eased and her face was slack. I smiled slightly. She must have been exhausted to fall asleep so quickly. A stray lock of her hair had slid across her cheek, and her forehead was smudged with ash.

“El?” said Osan from the entrance.

Outside the boathouse, the temperature dropped sharply, and I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering. A yellow semicircle of firelight gleamed through the gap in the crumbling wall. Beyond that, the landscape was only illuminated by the stars.

“What is it?” I asked.

Osan stood, looking out at the water, his back to me.

“You still aren’t telling the truth,” he said.

It was not an accusation, just a statement of fact, but I noticed his fists were balled. I stayed silent. He turned to face me.