Her hands are shaking. Blood from her ripped palm runs down her wrist.

They’ll find us in the gallery.

He leans in to grab her and she kicks out in self-defense—there’s a sharp crack from the ice shelf underneath them, the sound ricocheting and echoing in the morning air. Below, the noise of it seems to rouse the bear, and it charges against the rock wall; the ground shakes beneath them. Sim lurches back. But then he pushes slowly up onto his feet, moves toward her again.

The cracked shelf around him rumbles. Like a train, Maeve thinks. It feels like a train.

She heaves herself back. There’s a rolling clap as a fissure in the shelf moves between them. A chunk of ice breaks and falls away from the lip beside him. Sim freezes.

“Maeve—” It comes out throaty, a whisper, as though the sound of his voice will be enough to cause the ice shelf to break away, dragging him with it. His face goes slack with fear, eyes wide. He looks just like a child.

Then he reaches for her, his palm upturned. “Maeve—”

He wants her to save him.

Instinct is what shows up when you’ve learned something over and over, from experience. Karo’s voice in her head. Maeve looks at him pleading there, and wants to laugh. It finally makes sense. Every dream. She thought she could somehow control the bear—not understanding, in those dreams, there was no bear. The moment of transformation—there was only Maeve.

She looks down at the claw in her hand and lunges back, anchoring it deep into the safe ice behind her. She throws her good leg high, then brings the heel down with full power into the widening crevice in the shelf.

Sim drops to his knees just as the long fracture in the ice comes apart, lurching, grabbing for solid ground. Maeve grips the claw like an ice pick and kicks again, hammering into the shelf with all her strength twice, three times. There’s a deep groan as the lip breaks apart under them; she pitches her body back up where it’s safe just as the weak layer begins to slide.

“Maeve!”

His arm flails, grasping for her.

Then he’s gone. The forest below like a hand, closing around him.

Maeve stares after him, breathless; the empty space where his body was. There’s a long and blinding howl from below. A shudder runs through her, every muscle quaking, and for a moment there is nothing beyond that.

The scar on her hand now matched by a newer wound. It’s stopped bleeding. Finally. Maeve closes her other hand over it, protecting it, trembling with effort.

Wind sweeps along the ridge. Her ears are ringing and it’s hard to concentrate. She can hear her own breath, but can’t seem to get enough air. She knows what this is: shock setting in. She needs to keep moving while she can.

She pushes up to standing. Dan is lying only a few yards off, his body blown apart in the cold.