What had Linnie said that first time they met? “You should have stayed right where you were. Why did you leave?” If Linnie found out what Maggie was up to in the book club, she’d accuse her of running scared—and doing just what the Carlton haters wanted her to do: making herself vanish.

“She’s one to talk,” Maggie said under her breath, frowning at the weather. She scrambled out of bed, wishing she could leave the uncomfortable thoughts under the rumpled sheets. Her phone was on the floor. With a heavy sigh, she checked her emails. No reply from Jane yet.

The storm lasted all day. While the snow flew around the cabin, Maggie marked the passing hours by visiting her email and trying to concentrate on News of the World for the book club. Why wasn’t Jane writing back? The girl’s silence made Maggie nervous.

After the first week of November, the weather improved, but still there was nothing from Jane. Maggie was exasperated. For the longest time, this person had written without any encouragement at all. And now—after Maggie had finally replied—the girl couldn’t even muster a hey? A thanks-for-the-advice? A don’t-worry-I’m-fine? Like, what the hell? It was aggravating. Maggie checked her junk mail. She also went into her sent mail and reread her own message. Had she mentioned something that could have pissed off Jane? That might have hurt her feelings?

By the following week, Maggie’s irritation had disappeared. Now she was plain scared. She sent another email, a brief just-seeing-if-you’re-okay message. That went unanswered, too.

On Thursday, almost two weeks after she’d written her first message to Jane, Maggie reread the girl’s last email and swore. The more Maggie thought about it, the more the short paragraph sounded like a suicide note. Rattled, she stared at her phone until the screen grayed and turned black. What if Jane wasn’t writing back because she’d harmed herself … or worse?

Maggie tossed aside her phone. She had to tell Wren.

She found her aunt in the hallway, about to enter her studio. Before Maggie could mention the situation and ask for advice, Wren greeted her with a vague nod and said, “Oh, good, you’re up. Can you do me a favor and head over to Thomas’s to tell Sam he has the day off? He’s not answering his phone, and I—I need…” She ran a hand over her red eyes and then curled her fingers around her throat. Flatly, she finished, “I can’t have him around.”

“Sure…” Maggie frowned. Her aunt looked sick. “Are you all right?”

Wren shook her head. “Fine.” She must have registered the contradiction in her answer, because she smiled dimly and added, “I just need to be alone today—wrap up things in the studio without interruptions.”