There are two main doors off the lobby, one leading to the front gate, where she came in the night before, and the other out to the back acreage and the expanse of trees and trails she can see from her own window upstairs. The studios are all cabins set some way off on the north side of the property; the high ridge has been marked on the map with a staggered line, and there’s what looks like a ski lift out at the eastern border—the SkyLift. There are two roads in, but only one that’s accessible in winter.

The center was constructed in 1922, Maeve reads, during the heyday of art deco design, and this influence is notable in everything from the vintage light fixtures to the geometric lines and sunburst motif in the lower-level spa area, where visiting artists can enjoy bathing in the natural hot springs for which High Water was named.

The building has six stories; permanent staff suites are on the second floor and all the artists’ rooms staggered on the floors above.

“You’ll learn the place quickly enough,” Sadie says, crossing the room. She passes a folder to Karo wordlessly, then turns to Maeve. “It’s beautiful here, and quiet. I’m sure you’ll like it.” That same fixed smile. “It’s very quiet,” she says again.

“You seem so young to be into a doctorate already—” Maeve means it as a compliment. In dance, everyone is young.

“I am.”

Maeve waits for her to finish, but Sadie has no more to say.

“Aha! Here we are.” Karo pulls a key from the folder, her voice brightening. “Unless there’s something else you’d rather do first? Have you eaten?”

But Maeve shakes her head as she rises. She’s still got her coat on, ready to go. “I really just want to get to work.”

Sadie steps forward as if to go along with them. Standing next to her, Maeve gets that same doppelgänger feeling, a sort of shadow. Something about the girl’s posture. It’s not a stretch to wonder if Sadie grew up in dance and then switched to academics. Competition is competition, after all.

“It’s not far to the cabins,” the girl says. She’s stepping into her tour-guide role now. “Maybe a ten-minute walk? In the summer, you can sometimes grab a ride on an off-road—” Here she seems to catch herself, speaking more hurriedly. “But not now, not with the weather so unpredictable. Better to stick to the path. We don’t want any accidents—”

Karo looks at her sharply, and the girl suddenly hesitates, holding the door for Maeve.

“I’ll take Maeve over on my own,” Karo says. She tucks the key away again, then slides into a wool wrap and draws up the hood. She turns to Sadie, her voice clipped and quiet: “You have that request to finish up, yes?”