Two could play at that game. Clarion flashed him a coy smile. “Or maybe I want to be close to you.”

He’d never taught her to skate.

When he spoke, his voice was low and full of wonder. “You’re incredible.”

For perhaps the first time, she believed it.

He was gazing at her like she was something to marvel at. His expression went soft and unguarded when he noticed her staring back at him, as though he hadn’t expected to be caught but did not mind it overmuch. There was no mistaking the wide-open yearning in his eyes.

He had looked at her like this once before, she realized: the very first time she’d crossed into Winter. She wondered exactly how long he had wanted to kiss her—and felt very foolish, indeed, for being so oblivious.

“I’ll need to get my coat repaired first.” She plucked at a loose thread on her sleeve. “I’m not sure how long it will take. It took a few days for her to make it the first time.”

“I don’t mind,” he said. “I’ll wait for you.”

“We should get you home.”

Home. More and more, she dreaded leaving Winter. “Right. Good idea.”

“Yes. He’s beloved in Winter.” Yarrow paused for a moment, as if choosing her next words carefully. “I’m glad he found you. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen him so…hopeful.”

She couldn’t dwell on it, for when Milori joined her, he wrapped an arm securely around her waist. A flush crawled up her neck at his sudden closeness. No, she supposed she wouldn’t fall.

The scent of pine and cold water and the promise of snowfall radiated gently from his skin. His presence blunted the skin-crawling sensation of the Nightmares’ wrath boring into her. Like this, she could almost believe she was safe.

Without thinking, Clarion turned her face into the crook of Milori’s neck and tried not to notice the way his breath hitched.

She was still holding his hand.

Heat flooded her face. Clarion all but snatched her hand back. “Sorry—and, um…thank you?”

“It’s not worth mentioning.” He flexed his fingers as if working out a cramp, then took a single step back from her. The snow crunched beneath his weight.

Milori turned toward her at that exact moment, as though she’d called his name. Clearly, there had been no time to armor himself, because his expression morphed into something she didn’t know how to read. He looked almost dazzled, as though he’d been staring directly into the sun itself.

Milori turned toward her at that exact moment, as though she’d called his name. Clearly, there had been no time to armor himself, because his expression morphed into something she didn’t know how to read. He looked almost dazzled, as though he’d been staring directly into the sun itself.

Then: something—barely a wisp of shadow—rose like smoke from the broken ice. It seethed, then coalesced into a form it remembered from the nightmare that birthed it.

In the darkness, it was nearly impossible to see, but its footprints fell heavy against the earth. Then, compelled by some horrible, ancient instinct, it lumbered toward the warm seasons.

Then: something—barely a wisp of shadow—rose like smoke from the broken ice. It seethed, then coalesced into a form it remembered from the nightmare that birthed it.

In the darkness, it was nearly impossible to see, but its footprints fell heavy against the earth. Then, compelled by some horrible, ancient instinct, it lumbered toward the warm seasons.