Peter realized he was dreaming when he heard the loons. They never sang at night. Not in reality at least. But in this moment of half-sleep, their ghostly cry was so clear to him that he was able to feel the rest of the lake when the islands were so still; only the tickle of snow at the window disturbed them. Logs on the burner were crackling. There was his dad’s gentle snore. Peter rolled over, drawing the duvet even tighter across his body and waited for the wolves to come. But their lonely call never broke across the mountains and the illusion didn’t last.

He came to. The apartment’s windowless bedroom was so dark, he wasn’t sure whether, if he got out of bed and walked forward, he’d even find a wall, or just more darkness to pass through. Here, inside this room inside another room, away from the snow’s comforting glow, there was no midnight world, only hollow silence and the faintest tick of the clock through the wall.

Peter stared into the darkness between his bed and Cooper’s. He considered calling out his name just to be sure of him but decided against it. There was no point in the two of them being kept awake, so he let Cooper’s name break into a sigh across his lips and waited for his eyes to adjust so that he could at least watch him sleeping. But a few minutes passed and Peter couldn’t even see the bed, let alone make out which silhouetted mounds were duvet and which might be Cooper. He flopped his arm out of the side of the bed, fingering the air for the edge of the other mattress. The gap between the beds was too wide. He reached a little further and his fingertips grazed material with a cool sheen to the touch. Peter found the zipper to Cooper’s rucksack and a thought surged like dread through the pit of his stomach. It would be easy to take it into the living room, right now while Cooper was sleeping.