“What about you two?” Marcus asked, his face pale.

“We’re going to Whispering Pines,” Charles said.

We slipped out the back door of the restaurant into the biting winter air.

The wind hit me like a physical blow, freezing the tears on my cheeks instantly.

The snow was already up to our shins, dry and powdery.

We struggled through the drifts to Charles’s large four-wheel-drive vehicle parked in the shadows.

The engine roared to life, the heater blowing ice-cold air as Charles shifted into drive.

The tires spun on the slick ice before grabbing hold, pulling us out of the alley.

The streets of Crystal Oak were deserted.

The city was buried under a thick, deadening silence.

As we drove toward the northern highway, the buildings grew sparse, replaced by dark, heavy pines weighed down by snow.

The headlights of the truck cut thin paths through the swirling whiteout.

“Are you sure about this, Emily?” Charles asked, his eyes locked on the treacherous road ahead.

“I’ve spent ten years believing I was alone,” I said, staring out at the frozen wilderness. “If there is even a chance he is alive, I have to know.”