Our building is the tallest in the Sanctuary, so I have an unobstructed view of the world. It’s close to evening, the clouds still belching snow while a clear strip of sky on the horizon burns a muted orange. It’s a subdued cold, one so prevalent that it envelops me, slowly leaching the residual body heat from my clothes.

I stare across the river at the City. The fires in the Neverlands have mostly burned out, although several piles of rubble are still smoldering. In the Dark City itself a few buildings glow with life: people hunkered down against the horde. I wonder how long they’ll survive—if this is what the City was like after the Return, a few sparks of life scattered like embers ready to burn again if only given the chance.

I wonder if they’ll ever catch or just slowly shimmer out as winter and the horde march on.

Even from here I can hear the Unconsecrated, their collective moans drifting across the river on the frigid wind. Generally, cold weather should slow them down, but the City’s always warmer than other places, retaining ambient heat trapped in narrow streets. And while the plague rats may be slower, they’ll still overwhelm a human. There are just too many.

I lean against the wall of the structure enclosing the stairwell, letting it break the worst of the cold air blowing from the river. From here all I can see are the tops of the old skyscrapers in the City, and I blur my eyes, trying to visualize how it once must have been. Not naked steel but gleaming towers bursting with life.

The City must have held such promise then. So many hopes.

I’m yanked from these thoughts when the door from the stairwell opens and a figure moves out into the snow. I stay by the wall, hiding myself in the shadows. As soon as he takes a step I recognize Catcher. At the sight of him my stomach tingles, warmth flooding my body.

He glances around but doesn’t notice me as he strides to the low wall at the edge of the roof. For a moment he glances across the river at the City like I was. And then he opens his arms wide and tilts his head back, staring at the sky while white swirls around him and the heat of the skin on his neck burns any ice that dares touch him.

He looks … beautiful. And as if he can hear my thoughts he turns, lowers his chin and finds me in the shadows. Snowflakes brush against his lips and melt. They catch in his hair and eyelashes. He smiles, his grin lopsided and free, and it feels like all this is just for me.