Chapter Thirty-Seven

Harlow

The cold is the first thing I remember. Not the night. Not the running. Not the breaking glass or the sting of wood splinters or the way the snow felt like knives against my feet. Just the cold. It’s like it got into my bones and froze from the inside out.

I am curled up inside the hollow of a fallen tree. Not a big one, just wide enough for me to wedge myself into. The bark is damp and sme