There’s the deferred, echoey sound of ice and loose rock ricocheting down the outcrop to the forest floor. She’s got the gun out in front of her and presses her arms tighter into the sides of her body to stop them shaking. He’s working to keep his voice low and steady.

“That thing is coming up here to kill us both and it will be your fault.”

“Get back, Sim,” she says. “I mean it. Get away from me. Go back to the center.”

Her hand is locked in spasm now and she doesn’t know if she can pull the trigger again, if she can even make her fingers work—or how many bullets are left.

She tries to listen for the huffing, the throaty bark of the bear below them, but the wind drowns everything out now. What’s coming down is not even snow but sleet, ice pellets, something she can barely see through. Sim stiffens; the silhouette she knows is him moving toward her again.

“You’re being crazy.” He rallies, taking a few quick breaths. “Listen—”

“Listen? What are you going to tell me this time, Sim? Sadie shot herself? That’s how she died? Anna had a terrible accident and locked herself—”

“Maeve, I don’t want to do this here. This is what I’m saying! You’re in shock. I want to go back to the center. To the gallery. They won’t find us here.”

“You used Sadie to get to me and then you threw her away. And Justin, what did Justin do wrong? Every time someone gets in your way, they end up dead.” She brings the gun up a little higher. “Not me.” She backs away from him, toward the lift terminal again. She’s reduced to a kind of limping hop, the snow around her staining red.

He follows her steadily, though. His voice coming lower, down in his throat. “They won’t find us here, Maeve, and I need them to find us. You’ll ruin everything. Give me the gun.”

“How many times do I have to tell you no? What is it going to take for you to understand? You need to leave. Go.”

All at once, there’s a rush of sound up the escarpment. They both wheel to face it, Maeve with the gun jackknifing out in front of her. She fires, and it goes wild, the force of it sending her flying back. The smooth lip at the edge of the outcrop reverberates this time, and she can see the stress fractures webbing through the ice.

From the ridge, a voice breaks through the air.

Maeve grips the gun. She can feel the tremor rising through her body as she tries to understand.

“Stop!”

A figure emerges from the far side of the ridge, through the trees. His hood pulled tight around his face, his pack still on his back.

Dan.