Peter glanced up at the strip of stars caught in between both islands. He couldn’t see much so he focused on the black patches of sky because the stars were always brighter when you didn’t look directly at them. He could make out a few, and a cluster of them in his peripheral vision if he concentrated hard enough. But he couldn’t see what Cooper and Becky could, or the way they could. He looked back across the ice, clearing his throat like all he had to do was call out to them. But he couldn’t. Like hushed conversations taking place in another room, they were completely out of his reach now.

Further across the lake, the Restless One stumbled on towards the woods at the lake’s edge. But before it reached the first of the pines, it stopped. Its head slipped from its neck. It toppled sideways, bouncing across one shoulder and dropped. But the head didn’t roll across the ice. It collapsed in on itself. Mulch, too rotten to hold its shape. In its place above the severed neckline, hovered a new face. A deer skull with two skeletal antlers like reaching hands. The Restless One’s body dropped and the Ghost Ranger stepped forward. Cooper recoiled, pushing Becky behind him, and the ranger approached.

A gloved hand reached for a pouch hanging from his belt. But he didn’t need to look down to loosen the tight drawstring. His fingers dipped effortlessly inside, reaching for the contents of the bag. The empty hollows of the eye sockets held their gaze. The ranger produced a piece of flesh, offering it like an owner might to an obedient pet. Peter watched Cooper’s shoulder blades flex beneath his jacket as the power of temptation rose inside his body. But he’d done well this last month, learning how to control it and how to quell the thirst by sitting with the carcass of that night’s meal before roasting it on the spit.

One of Cooper’s hands gripped Becky’s to still her own urges, the other reached for his holster. He took a wide stance so his body could withstand the shock when the bullet bolted from the barrel, and took aim. But before he could fire, the ranger lowered his hand.

“Timberdark,” came a thin voice from beneath the mask.

Cooper’s hand wavered. His aim was always as sure as a compass finding north. But as the power of that strange word passed between them, his arm seemed to buckle and the ranger’s crown of antlers bowed.

“Timber-dark,” intoned the voice once more.

The click of the k was sharp at the back of the ranger’s throat. Like an exclamation mark stamped at the end of a terrible sentence. Peter gripped hold of the ravine walls. He’d never heard that word before. But it was no stranger to Cooper.