“But it’s okay. No one will ever know. I promise. It’s over now.” Sim crouches down, watching her as she tries to slide away from him. “We’re not getting out of here alive, Maeve. Don’t you see? This is the end of our story. Come with me now—don’t ruin it. They’ll never find us here, in the snow. We’ll be buried. But back at the lodge, in the gallery—think of it. Think of their faces. They’ll find us in the gallery. That will be our legacy.”

There’s a beat as the horror of what he’s saying sinks in. This is the end of our story. Maeve sees the whole narrative spooling out like rope. First his quiet attention, then a growing obsession. Now, stranded for days, he’s devised a way to make them both immortal.

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.