M''s head throbbed, thick with dizziness.


    Voices around her sounded distant, muffled, indistinct, and even her vision blurred at the edges. Her body burned with fever, leaving her weak and limp, every movement a struggle.


    Noticing her flushed cheeks and the sweat beading on her forehead, Archie grew rmed. He pressed a hand to her skin-she was burning up. Without hesitation, he hurried out to fetch thedy of the house.


    M was running a high fever.


    There was a flurry of activity-medicine was administered, cool cloths pressed to her brow-and soon she drifted back into a fitful, feverish sleep.


    It was a restless night. Half-aware, M tumbled into a dream that swept her far into the past.


    She dreamed of the very first time she met Lysander.


    Longer ago than seven years—back in university. She and Miranda had been walking along a woond path nketed in frost, snowkes swirling in the air, catching in M''s hair. Theyughed, teasing each other, warmth and cheer lighting up the cold afternoon.


    M turned her head,ughter still on her lips, and her gazended on a figure standing in the stone corridor of a nearby building.


    A group of students lingered there, but Lysander stood out instantly-impossibly poised, an easy confidence about him that drew the eye. Even at a distance, something maic shed in his sharp, fox-like eyes as he looked right at her- straight into her soul.


    Across the falling snow, their eyes met.


    A gust of wind scattered the kes, swirling between them. M''s heart skipped, fluttering out of rhythm. She quickly looked away.


    "Huff... huff..."


    Suddenly, M woke, drenched in sweat, heart pounding. The room was dark, shadows pressing in from all sides.


    She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, unsettled.


    Why had she dreamed of that moment from so long ago?


    Now she understood-how a single nce, that split-second of helpless longing, had pulled her into a spiral she couldn''t escape.


    And at the bottom of that spiral-hell awaited.


    Night clung heavily to Crimson Gardens. In the library, the only light came from a solitary deskmp, its glow dim and yellow, barely illuminating the room.


    Lysander sat behind his desk, half-swallowed by shadow. His head was bowed, gaze fixed on a photograph before him, his dark eyes unreadable.


    It was a picture of M at neen.


    In a snowy woond, she stood radiant in a white winter coat, her smile bright enough to rival the morning sun. Snowkes crowned her hair, turning her into something ethereal a woond sprite, alive and lovely.


    He hadn''t taken the photo himself.


    He remembered that day: standing with a group of friends in the corridor, catching sight of theughing girl ying in the snow outside. Their eyes had met, just for a moment.


    A camera shutter clicked somewhere beside him, followed by a friend''s low whistle.


    "Wow, that''s a real snow fairy out there."


    The others crowded around, moring to see.


    Lysander wasn''t sure what possessed him, but he snatched the phone from his friend, sent the photo to himself, then deleted all traces of it from the device.


    His friend protested, indignant.


    "What''s your deal, Lysander? Don''t keep all the fun to yourself. I went through the trouble to snap that was hoping to share with everyone."


    "Who''s the snow fairy?"


    "Count me in, whatever it is."


    "Who was that, anyway? I didn''t even get a good look!"


    Lysander ignored their chatter, breaking away from the group. He stared down at


    his phone, at the girl''s glowing smile. With a slow, deliberate movement, he traced her lips on the screen, then slid his finger up to her bright, animated eyes.


    A thought crossed his mind-dark and possessive.


    That face, if it were stained with tears on his pillow, would be heartbreakingly beautiful.


    Yearster, when he finally had her in his grasp, when he pressed her down and took everything she could give he discovered he''d been right.


    She was beautiful enough to break a man''s heart.


    Now, alone in the dim library, Lysander picked up the photograph, pressing it so hard the corner crumpled slightly. Just then, the door swung open and Leonard entered.


    "Any luck?" Lysander asked.


    Leonard shook his head.


    "We went over every route near the old woods, checked every blind spot on the cameras. The rain washed away all traces. There''s nothing."


    Lysander''s eyes narrowed in thought. "Send a team out past Kingsford. She might have already left the city."


    A whole day and night-she could have gone far.


    Morning light crept over the horizon.


    Outside Kingsford, in a small cottage at the edge of a quiet vige, M stirred from her uneasy dreams. She dozed fitfully for a while, unable to fully wake or fall back asleep until finally, she gave up and rose to greet the day.