Anna says that without light or power, there’s not much she can do. There are a few books in the archive she’s been meaning to look over—historical accounts of men who went missing, survivors stalked by a giant bear or haunted by terrible dreams—but she can bring them back here and sit by the hearth.

“Cozy,” Maeve says. The last thing she wants to do is return to that dream; she blinks it away. Turning to Karo instead, matter-of-fact: “I’m going to the studio for the day.”

Karo tilts her chin, surprised. Sim does not seem to hear; he is bent over the fire, adjusting the logs.

“I might as well,” Maeve goes on. “You said it yourself, there’s probably a crew already working on the power lines. It’s not snowing right now, and I’m only here a few days.”

What she doesn’t say is that working will distract her, will give her a focus, something to keep her grounded. She can already feel her anxiety spiraling up, her cell phone tugging at her back pocket. If she’s not working—physically working—she knows she’ll end up sitting by the fire, obsessively switching the phone on and off, on and off, driving herself into a panic.

“We don’t know what the conditions are like out there,” Karo says.

Maeve wraps her coat a little more tightly around herself and ties the belt.

“So I’ll be careful. If it feels dangerous, I’ll come back and entertain Anna with my choreography.” She looks at Sadie when she says that; after last night, she’d like to have a moment alone with Anna, regardless.

Sadie seems unbothered, though, her coat swinging open now that she’s been given the order to stay put. Chin jutting a little. She slides into an armchair by the fire and leans in to talk to Sim, who has been playing with the flame.

But when Maeve turns to go, Sim rises and joins her. He’s got his cigarettes out. She cannot help but notice that Karo does not offer him the same look of reproof that Maeve herself attracts. Frustrating when women in power get stuck in the same old conventions.

They pass through the rear doors together and then Maeve stops. There’s no obvious avalanche damage here, nothing close to the main building. Dan has been out shoveling already, but farther on, she can see where the path has fully disappeared, buried in new snow.

“You’ll need a little trail of bread crumbs,” Sim says.

Maeve looks out at the white. There is no sound, nothing; not even birds. She turns to him.

“Look—”

He’s closer than she thought, his head dipping just slightly as he lights his smoke. She falters, and he’s careful to hold his cigarette away from her as he exhales.

“Maybe I’ll come with you, hey?”