The absurdity of this strikes her as she says it. She’s dressed in jeans and a leather coat, and she’s brought nothing with her, no change of clothes, not even an elastic to tie back her hair. What does she plan to do here, alone in the middle of the woods?

Karolina either doesn’t find this strange or hides it if she does.

“We’ll have dinner this evening, all of us,” she says. “There’s only a small group here; no sense in keeping the kitchen open for four hours every night. Seven o’clock? That’s not too late?” She opens the door.

Maeve steps forward as though this is her house now, as though she is showing Karo out. “I never would have quit if I’d had the choice,” she says. The words trip out of her, awkward and sudden.

Karolina simply looks at her, surprised. Maeve pulls away and brushes again at the back of her neck.

“It’s wonderful, I mean. That’s what I mean—I’m glad to be out here. I’m here to work.” Her hands drop to her sides. “So it’s fine with me that there’ll only be a handful of us,” she says. “The fewer people, the better.”

She finds the installation artist by accident. On her way back through the shadowland in the evening; a difficult first day of work, but Maeve forced herself to stick it out. It’s already heavy twilight by the time she finally pulls her jeans back on, tucks them down inside her boots against the wet.

Beyond twilight. Later than she thought. She bundles her coat under one arm, despite the snow coming down. She’s warm, hot even, from practice—her first extended workout in what feels like forever. It’s important to remember what that’s like, rehearsing and dancing all day.

When was dinner again? She’s likely missed it.

She rummages in her bag as she moves along, finds a granola bar she snagged from the cupboard, and unwraps it. There’s an odd pleasure, a delicious feeling, from the emptiness inside her. Familiar. You can get away with a little more in modern companies, but all Maeve’s formal training was in the ballet, where size is everything—a blur of cigarettes and Diet Coke.

The path hasn’t been cleared since morning, but there’s a wide enough swath cut through the brush that she can determine where it would be in summertime, and there’s a rough trail, someone else’s footsteps, to follow through the snow. Pine and spruce grow up on either side of her, their needles blackening in the dark. A few dim, solar-powered fixtures, well spaced, guide the way.