She leaned forward. Her lips seemed to lift toward his face as she inhaled. The smell of her, very close, a bloom of warmth in the cold. If he could lean toward her, in a gentle way, and kiss her. The thought rolled through him like rapture.

Careful, Jack. This girl will break your heart.

On the bed, Matty shifted again. His eyelids fluttered, and then the air filled with the measured breathing of his sleep.

Ava stood, her stature determined. When she managed to speak, her voice sounded odd. As if some taut string had reached its limit and torn free of her body. “We should leave here, Jack.”

He shut his eyes.

“Let’s just go,” she said. “Somewhere far.”

“I have to do this first.”

“Why?”

His breaths were choking him. Even with his eyes closed, he could see Matty, lying there twined in the blankets, his hair matted from the stocking hat. The deck of UNO cards in his coat pocket.

“We can’t just leave,” he said, hoarse. “We don’t even have food.”

“These people are dangerous.”

He dragged his gaze up to hers. “I know.”

But she wasn’t looking at him now. Her expression was faraway, lost to something else. What are you thinking, Ava? Why won’t you tell me?

He put a hand to his lips and wiped them. “We don’t have anything. I have three dollars and sixty-four cents.”

“What if the money isn’t there?”

“It’s there.”

She met his stare. She didn’t speak—just shook her head.

If he could take her hand, pull her down to sit next to him.

“I have to do this,” he said.

“They’ll catch you.”

“They won’t.”

The fading light. Matty’s even breathing. Ava crossed her arms and looked away from him. “They’ll hurt you.”

“No.”

“They will.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“How’s that worked for you so far?” She smiled at him softly. It was not a smile like he’d ever seen—at once wise and sad and full of fear. It made Jack shiver. In the dusky light, the heart on her wrist shone black.

Wind. The room sighed, creaked.

Jack examined his hands, his bloody shirt. He knew. All the danger he was willing to risk. For Matty. And now for Ava. Her face in the burgeoning dark. Her voice a petition. Please, he thought. Don’t let go of me.

He inhaled and spoke slowly.

“He’s my brother. I have to keep him safe.” He looked at her, holding her eyes with his own. “I have to keep us safe.”

Out there, in the gusts beyond the lace-covered window, a darkening curtain of snow descends. Wind starts to moan.

Dread.

It slides through Ava like eels. She stifles a shudder. Jack does not know the danger, doesn’t understand.

I have to tell him, she thinks.

And I cannot tell him.