Maeve turns away, dragging her bad leg. There’s a new scent in the air, a stronger, heavier musk rising up from the forest. Metallic. She doesn’t look back.

Somewhere in the clouds above, the hum of the chopper grows louder. She can hear it; she’s following that sound only. It’s hard to see anything through the gray morning. Black spots, like the missing pieces of a puzzle, drop into her view. Like a bad connection. Pixelated. She cannot seem to stop shaking.

To the east, the sun is rising, stronger and stronger every minute. She lifts her eyes, following the light. The steady blink of a searchlight still skims the morning haze.

At the lift terminal base, she eases herself up onto the ledge and tries sliding out into the open, then stops and sinks a hand into her coat’s deep pocket instead. She can’t climb out onto the lift. Not now, not the way she wanted to.

But she’s already imagining how her dancers will look. How to make these movements, this broken body, into something beautiful.

The bear is behind her now. Maeve reaches down and lights a flare.

Acknowledgments

A very big thank-you to the teams at HarperCollins in Canada and Mulholland Books in the United States, and extra-specially to my wonderful editors, Iris Tupholme and Helen O’Hare, who helped me in a million ways but mostly by loving this story as much as I do and sharpening it at every turn. To my agent, Samantha Haywood: You make it possible for me to do my dream job! Early readers and excerpt readers who held my hand: Sharon Bala, Miranda Hill, and Bianca Spence (to whom this book is dedicated and who also talked endlessly with me about dance and helped me to better understand it). For bear knowledge, resources, and advice, Jay Butler and Claire Cameron. For sharing her process and her story and many helpful videos of her own practice time, my childhood friend Allison Cummings (and, by extension, her company, Sore for Punching You). The Banff Centre for Arts and Creativity, for providing inspiration and elk (but, thankfully, no bears). Caroline Clarke, who worked patiently with me to create the map of the High Water Center for the Arts. ArtsNL for financial support that made working on The Retreat so much easier.

Most of all, to my family, who are kind and fun and funny and take my mind off murder. And especially George Murray, who reads every draft, listens to every worry, and to whom every book should be dedicated, forever.

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