IN THE GROVE, THE FROZEN WOODS ARE QUIET. The rows of stark poplars have a sheen from the silvery frost. They glisten like dew on a spiderweb.

I stop in the middle of the grove and think on being here with Kane. He’d said he wished things were different.

Well, things are different.

I pull my grandma’am’s ring from my ceinture and put it on my finger. I was always so sure of her guilt, hated her for it. I think on how I got this ring and feel a rush of shame.

You are very much like her.

If that’s true, then I’m courting my own death. I could well end up at the Crossroads for this. But what’s left for me in the settlement if I don’t prove I’m not Stained?

A breeze groans the poplars around me. It’s a bitter wind—the air is heavy with the promise of snow. I need to get on with it before the very idea of dusk and all that comes with it freezes me to the spot.

I look around to get my bearings.

There is a girl standing on the far side of the grove, staring at me. She moves. Lifts her hand in a greeting.

No.

That can’t be. My eyes are playing tricks—

But I can see her plain. She’s my age, with long dark hair, big eyes. She’s wearing strange clothes—blue, like the sky.

She smiles, shy. Then she turns and disappears.

“Wait!” My voice echoes in the forest. I push hard for the far side of the grove. When I get inside the trees, I see a flash of dark hair behind a far tree.

I crash through the brush after her, my foot screaming, my mind churning.

Who is she? Where did she come from?

Catch her. Find her.

Branches whip at my face, grab my cloak. The trees stream past, blur in my sight as I fix my eyes on her head. She’s much faster than me, but it seems she’s hanging back a bit. Mayhap she wants me to follow?

I lose her and stop, breathing hard. The trees all look the same. I paid no attention to which direction she headed from the grove. I look about, trying to find the sun through the bare branches.

There’s movement at the corner of my eye. She’s twenty strides ahead, peeking around the trunk of a tree. Then her dark head disappears again. Silent.

Too silent.

She’s making no noise as she goes; I’m crashing through the forest like an oversize bison.

I pause.

Mayhap I’m dreaming; mayhap I’m imagining her.

My mind feels fuzzy. I’m hot—is the fever back or am I hot from running? I pinch the inside of my wrist, stamp my foot hard on the frozen forest floor. Both parts of me sing with pain. It feels real, but the girl . . . It’s like she stepped out of my dreams.

My dreams. Yes. She’s exactly the girl I’ve been dreaming on—the one who’s been calling to me, asking me to find her.

I spin about. I have no idea where I am. Seems I’m west of the grove, but I can’t be sure.

A small trail empties out ahead of me. I push ahead, watching the trees for the girl to reappear. When I brush aside the branch hanging over the end of the path, I draw up short. The pole with the red cloth bends in a frost-filled breeze.

I’m back at the Crossroads.

I close my eyes and breathe deep so my mind doesn’t splinter into pieces. Easy. It’s day. I’ve been here before and lived to tell the tale. There’s no way she’s a Wayward ghost looking for some sort of revenge.

Is there?

My grandma’am’s ring feels hot and bright on my finger.

The girl appears at the top of the hill that leads to the gibbets. She smiles again—that same shy smile. Then she beckons and disappears down the other side.

My chest is tight and my hands shake as I pull my cloak tight around me. Should I follow? I try to think on what waits for me back at the fortification, but all I feel is a nothingness that wants to swallow me whole.

I am Discovery.

The wind gusts at me something fierce as I climb; I have to bend my head against its force. When I crest the hill and raise my eyes, my heart stops. I’m a good hundred strides from the gibbets at the bottom, but it’s plain from this distance: the cages are empty.

Empty.

I try to catch my breath back in the rushing wind. The girl is moving sure among the gibbets, heading for the far side.

My feet move, slipping down the cliff. By the time I reach the bottom, my skin is slick beneath my winter clothes. Sweat beads on my upper lip and I breathe hard, staring at the rusted cages. The doors hang open, like the skeletons inside them pushed them out and flew away. Or . . .

Like they were never there to begin with.

This can’t be. I bend, put my hands on my knees and hang my head, trying to slow my breath. My grandma’am’s ring glares at me.

Have I plain lost my senses?

A thin, fluting whistle echoes through the Crossroads. This time I know it straightaway: it’s the sound I heard when Kane and I hid in the cabin’s cellar—the same sound Brother Stockham followed that day I saw him in the woods.

My eyes search for the sound.

It’s the girl, waiting outside a line of trees on the far side, her fingers to her lips. She makes the sound once more, then gestures for me to follow. She’s not smiling anymore, she’s beckoning urgent-like.

My voice comes out a croak. “Wait!”

She doesn’t.

I lurch after her. I can’t be left alone in this place.

The wind rushes over the hills and sends the gibbets twisting as I stumble through. There are hot tears on my face—when did I start crying?

Back in the woods we’re sheltered from the wind. She’s ahead, not stopping, leading me with little backward glances. The stark-white poplars are sun-blasted bones now and white flakes are falling around us like ash.

When I stumble over fallen brush and fall to my knees, she pulls up short and waits for me to get to my feet. Then she’s off again. We come to a tree-dotted hill. She stops and whistles again. It echoes through the woods.

And then, a whistle answers back.

She smiles and starts up the hill before us.

My leg is on fire and every bone in my body feels boulder heavy. I scramble through the slick dead leaves, pull my heavy body up the incline. When I get to the top, I recognize the hill we’ve climbed. We came from a different direction and are looking at it from the side.

It sits at the bottom of the gully, flickering with light like a tiny candle: the cabin. She’s led me to the cabin.

I hobble down the slope as fast as I’m able, but she’s far faster. She gets to the cabin and darts round the side, up the steps, and in through the door.

My breath is coming fast and jagged, the pain a white-hot blaze searing into my hip. I am dragging, dragging my body with me, my mind drifting slow like the ice in the river.

I cross the clearing. The bright taste of blood is hot in my throat. I half crawl, half stumble up the steps, reach for the door with clammy hands. I’m about to push it open when it swings wide and a backlit shape blocks my path.

Hands seize the front of my cloak and drag me across the threshold. The light is so bright, spots dance in my eyes. The door slams behind me and I’m pushed to the wall and held firm.

A muffled voice reaches my ears, speaking words I can’t figure. The shape before the light shifts like it’s reaching for something.

More light illuminates the space, bringing the shape before me clear.

I want to scream, but my voice is gone.

I’m staring at the Elephant Man.