They walked to the house because the air had turned cold—too cold for October—and the road behind them had already disappeared. Not faded. Disappeared. Where the ruts had been, there was only a solid wall of briar and thorn, as if the forest had swallowed its own tail.
Seven names. Seven hands, all frozen at different times.
YOU CHOSE TO STAY.
“Maybe they have a phone,” Jake said.
Waiting for him to say yes.
She looked at him. Really looked. His knuckles were white on the car door. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. He knew. He just didn’t want to be right.