“What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is that damn fool woman is so intent on running away from what’s between us she’s risking her own life to end it,” he said, buckling the girth. “She’s got some stupid idea about confronting the ghost herself.”

“I’m coming, too,” Henry said, already leading Sam’s second horse out of its stall.

“Fine,” Sam said, swinging up onto his mount. “But I’m not waiting.”

He urged the horse forward and headed towards Liefdehuis without looking back, memories of Alva’s pale, unconscious face flashing before him.

There was a house on the other side of the woods. She’d been there before. As she ran, she could see a flash of golden light through the dark trees, but she never seemed to get any closer to it.

She knew, deep in her bones, that she was never going to see it. Already her breath came in ragged, painful gasps. She was going to die here, surrounded by darkness and damp and cold, and the merrymakers in the golden light would never even hear her scream.

Two more turns of the path, before the tree, the knife, and the closing night.

She knew how this ended.

He was closing in. She could hear his heavy breathing, branches breaking in his pursuit.

“Why are you running?” he called, his voice too smooth for a man who’d been running. “We both know what happens here. Why not stop?”

She wanted to. He was right, after all. There was no point in running—he was going to catch her, like he always did, like he was always going to.

Another shard of light from the house glinted through the twisted branches. If she strained, she could almost make out the warm sound of happy conversation echoing over the snow.

Maybe she could make it this time. The thought pierced her chest painfully as sudden tears streamed down her face, freezing cold in the brutal night air.

Hope was so much worse than acceptance, she thought helplessly. And, after the next turn of the path, she’d have to feel that die, too.

Riding down the drive towards Liefdehuis, Sam searched anxiously for some sign of life from the house, some sign Alva was all right. None met his eyes. The only light came from the moon overhead, casting a weak silver light on the road. The house was nothing but a black monolith in front of him.

What would happen if she was caught in Rose’s world for too long? His mind worked frantically through possibilities. There was no way of telling what effect prolonged exposure to this kind of mental disturbance could have on the human mind—even her short experience earlier had left Alva weak and exhausted.