She fingers the claw in her pocket, remembering the dream moment, like this one, at the cabin door when it grew right onto her hand. Are dreams predictions or practice?

From deep in the trees, she hears the gun go off. A warning shot.

He is never going to let you go, she thinks again.

No. But she can use that against him. She squeezes her fist shut and counts to five, waiting to see the stutter of the flashlight beam one more time. Then she runs.

She is small and light and she knows how to move fast.

She’s going to lead him to the bear.

In the sky, there’s the barest hint of the coming day. The wind brings new snow with it, picks up the light top layer at Maeve’s feet, making the ground in front of her sway and dance. She strains to make out the horizon, squinting to where she knows the ridge begins and beyond that.

Beyond that, just glitter.

In the clearing there was just enough light to guide her, but back in the woods, it’s still too dark to see. Maeve skirts the edge of the tree line, trying to keep the brighter open lip in sight. Her injured hand has gone numb, and she’s glad of it—glad to be rid of the distraction, even though she knows it’s probably a bad sign. It can’t be long until morning now. Can it? She glances up at the branches, willing some little bit of brightness to break through.

But the mesh of trees seems endless here, getting thicker rather than thinning out. She turns and heads deeper into the canopy. The woods all look the same now. The same darkness, the same reach of limbs, the same stillness. The farther she goes from the open wind tunnels around the center, the quieter it is. The sound of being swallowed.

Somewhere in the distance she hears the crack of a branch and she stops, frozen. The sound coming, not from behind her, but somewhere far ahead—someone or something moving through the forest. For a second, she thinks of Sim’s story and her stomach tightens as she imagines Dan out there, waiting. Then she immediately throws the image out again. Sim was lying, he’s a liar, the story just a diversion, and now it’s slowing her down. If anything is out there, it’s an animal. The bear—and that means she needs to move faster, not freeze up.

She’s banking on finding the bear before Sim finds her.

Maeve waits a moment longer for another noise, some kind of confirmation—that huff, or the familiar musky smell—but nothing comes. Then another crack, behind her now.

She hears her name again.

“Maeve! Maeve, don’t be a fool! You’re not alone out here.”

She whirls around, looking in all directions, but she can’t see Sim anywhere, can’t tell exactly where the voice is coming from. Then, far to her left, a swoop of light.