“That bird has to land somewhere,” says El. “There’s got to be an end to the White Sea.”

“I’m so tired,” whispers Ao. “Is there any water left?”

El gives her the last swallow.

They have run out of food when they see a light shining in the south, out of the haze. The light does not waver. It’s a beacon calling to them. It’s the burst of hope they need to keep plodding forward with the last of their strength. Maybe there really is a land where two girls might … might what?

Might live.

Ao cries out, clutching her belly, and stumbles forward. El’s eyes had been lifted to the light, and half her mind was on ignoring the constant, stinging pain in her feet and the dull ache that feels ready to crack in her chest. She’s startled when Ao flings herself down and collapses into hopeless, exhausted sobs.

The road is broken. Before them lies another collapsed bridge across a dried-out river channel. The ruins lead to what appears to be an island of rock, like a monstrous turtle’s back, that blocks their view. They can’t see the other side of the channel, how much more of it lies beyond the rock, and if the bridge goes onward past the rock. Maybe the rock is the end of the road. Some distance beyond this, though, they still see the shining light, up on high. The light suggests there is something tangible, physical, rising beyond the haze. Yet unreachable, because the problem is that, this time, there is a wide and steady stream of mist pouring along the dry channel almost like water. Which means there is no way to pick a route across. Ao sprawls on the road, sobbing, each tear a gleam of hope lost. The sun sets. Ao weeps until she falls asleep.

But El has been changed by this journey. Her heart has cracked, and what is meant to emerge, she does not yet know. Stars twinkle overhead. The air is clean, and they are free. For the first time in her life, she feels unrestrainedly happy because they have escaped, and that is enough, even if this is all the freedom they will know. If they die or live this night, it will be because of their own will and their own decisions.

The world is beautiful and precious. Even the White Sea is beautiful. Sparks like fireflies wink in the mist. The shallow currents of mist that run along the channel pulse with an iridescent glow, like living rainbows. She has witnessed this unexpected splendor. That alone is something she never dreamed of. So, if this is the end, if death awaits them alongside grief at the loss of what she and Ao briefly hoped for, then she can yet smile.