Alma and Shirin raced forward in the same instant. The wind screeched around them, an eerie, high-pitched keening.
Shirin grabbed the bottle from the ground.
“I don’t know how, but it’s not broken!” she yelled, holding it up.
Alma spotted the cap, the silver reflecting back the starlight. “And I’ve got the top!” she called.
They hurried over to Hugo, who was trying to wrestle the pole upright. Shirin shoved the tubing back into the container. Alma stood by, cap in hand.
Then there was another burst of wind, the strongest one yet, the loudest one yet. The top of the mountain was alive with a bone-chilling cold and an earsplitting shrieking that sent the three of them staggering backward.
Inside the bottle, the windmill began to turn again.
“Alma, check it!” Hugo cried over his shoulder.
Alma grabbed the quintescope from the ground. She aimed it at the wind jar and—
There was the light. Inside the jar it was like there were a thousand tiny fireflies lit up and dancing in unison. The intensity grew and grew, sparks to flames, a swirling, shimmering silver that was bright, bright, breathtakingly bright.
“That’s it!” Alma cried, sticking the quintescope under her arm. “That’s true wind!” In two quick motions, she pulled the tubing from the bottle and jammed the cap onto the opening.
Inside the jar, the windmill kept turning.
“How can it still be moving?” Hugo asked, dropping the pole and rushing over to her. “And is it really glowing like the water?”
Alma handed him the quintescope.
“Eureka!” Hugo shouted as he peered through the lens. “We did it!”
“Together,” Shirin added.
Hugo held the wind jar up to his face. He stared for a long time without saying anything. The light from above caught his glasses, making it look like he had twinkling stars for eyes.
“Apologies,” he finally said, pulling away from the jar. “The truth is I’m used to doing everything on my own. I don’t—I don’t have a lot of experience with friends.”
“Me neither,” Alma said. And briefly, she considered that this would be a good time to tell them her own truth—the truth she had been hiding for months, the truth that made her fear she would never be able to save the Starling, the truth about why she had left the library yesterday.
But then Shirin said, “Lucky for you, Hugo, Alma and I are very gracious and forgiving.”
So instead, Alma smiled and bowed graciously, which made Shirin burst into laughter, infectious and full-bodied. Which made Alma laugh. Which made even Hugo laugh.
They stood under the stars, with wind in a jar, and laughed together. And even though she hadn’t told her truth yet, Alma was sure now. Whether she failed or not, whether her episodes stopped or continued, this was where she was supposed to be. She was going to keep trying.
That was when she saw it.