It must be the snow; a wire is down somewhere. She tosses the phone onto the bed and climbs in, but her arm stings, and she can’t sleep without knowing what’s going on. She rifles through her backpack in the dark for a bandage. What do they call these snow events now? Snowmageddon. Snowpocalypse. She bandages her arm, then sits under the blankets and pulls her knees in to her chest to wait. Every five minutes or so, she leans over and tries the bedside lamp again, but the more time passes, the more she starts to worry. She turns the phone off to save battery life, pulls on a pair of dance tights and a hoodie, and picks her way down to the lobby.

Maybe, by some miracle, there is power down there. At best, Maeve can make herself a cup of tea in the kitchen. At the very least, she can do some stretching by moonlight, maybe a little barre exercise. As long as she’s awake, she might as well be working.

But when she swings the stairwell door open, they are all there, shadows in the dark—Anna, Dan, Justin. Maeve almost jumps. Karo, standing to one side, strikes a match and then carries it around the room, lighting candles.

“I—” Maeve is unsure of what to say.

“Woke you up too, huh?” Anna is sitting huddled in an armchair, knees drawn up to her chin.

“The bear?” Maeve says, remembering Anna’s story about the spring session, how everyone woke one night with the same dream.

But instead of nodding, Anna frowns, then sits up taller. “Oh, wait, now, that’s cool—” she starts.

“Anna,” Dan says, giving her a look. He turns to Maeve. “We just had a bit of a jolt.” He gets up to help distribute the candles now that there’s some light. “Because of the sound. It woke everyone.”

“What sound?” Maeve says. Part of her wonders if she is still dreaming.

“There’s been an avalanche,” Karo says. Her voice is clipped, controlled. “Somewhere off the eastern ridge. Nothing to worry about. But very loud.” She glares at Anna. “That’s all.”

“But what were you dreaming about?” Anna is persistent. “I have to know.”

On the couch, Justin wraps his robe a little tighter around himself and sinks into its hood, petulant. “When I say I’m dreaming about bears, you never want to know the details—”

Maeve stays on Karo, trying to make sense of what she just said. An avalanche? Her head hurts. The dream already feels far away. “I mean,” she says to Anna, “yeah, a bear. I think so. I don’t know; it’s already cloudy.”

Sadie, by the window, traces her finger down the glass, cutting a path through the condensation.

“Anna always needs everything to be magical,” she says. “Like some fun fairy tale.”