“It’s stuck,” I said, turning it upside down, looking for a seam. But before I could do anything more, the front doors of the building blew open, banging against the walls as the room grew cold.

“What was that?” Noah said, but I already knew. I could feel it.

Putting the small case back into the chest, I closed the clasps and tucked it into my bag. “Stay here,” I said, and ran outside to the stoop.

The campus was vacant as night closed around it like a curtain. In the distance, I thought I heard the sound of snow crunching beneath feet, but then it stopped. Sliding my hand down the railing, I waited, listening. My eyes darted to the left at a flash of movement. And then to the right. The wind swirled past me as something on the horizon seemed to flutter. And then the air pressure changed, compressing in on me.

I felt them before I saw them, their name whistling through the branches: the Undead. I heard a pitter-patter in the snow; soft, like the wings of a moth beating against a porch wall.

I backed up the stairs and into Horace Hall, where I took Noah by the arm. “They’re here,” I said. “They’re coming for us.”

But as we stepped out the door, I realized I was too late. They were already running toward us, their small bodies zigzagging randomly across the green, stumbling and then picking themselves up as they followed each other, building momentum like the beginning of an avalanche tumbling down a mountain. The professors must have felt it too, because slowly they came out of the buildings, some in suits, some in pajamas, their expressions distorted in confusion as they watched the Undead descend on the campus.

I reached for Noah’s hand to pull him to the basement, but he was already outside, running toward the Liberum, wielding his shovel over his head. “Noah, wait!” I screamed, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me. “The tunnels!”

The Undead boys closed in on him, their tiny white hands grasping at his face. Picking up my bag and shovel, I ran after him. By the time I caught up, Noah had led them onto the lake, fighting them off with his shovel as he slipped across the ice. When I called his name, he hurled a child off his back and turned to me.

That was the moment.

He blinked, his gaze meeting mine, and the shovel slipped from his hands, its tip stabbing the ice by his feet. A jagged gash splintered through it, and just as his lips parted to call out to me, he fell.

The lake swallowed him, the water sloshing as he grabbed at the edge of the ice. But it only crumbled beneath his fingers, making him sink deeper.

I gasped as the Undead boys followed the sound of the water as it sucked him below, their bare feet sliding across the ice as they surrounded the hole. I was about to dash toward them when a palm pressed itself against the underside of the ice, only a few feet from the hole. I jumped back when I realized it belonged to Noah. Crawling toward it, I began to bang on the ice, trying to break it, but even under my sharp shovel, it wouldn’t split.

“Noah?” I screamed, pounding at the ice. “Noah?”

My breath grew ragged as I kept trying, using my heel to kick the blade, but to no avail. There was nothing I could do except stand and watch as Noah’s hand slipped away from the ice and grew distant as he sank into the depths.

I didn’t even fight when they came for me. I heard the hush of children’s voices in the night. Two tiny hands closed over my eyes. Two more covered my ears, and another my mouth. Still more over my arms and legs, until I collapsed into the snow. It was all I could to do to rip the bandage from my back and touch the mark between my shoulders. “Dante,” I whispered, pain reverberating through my spine. “I’m sorry.” His voice spoke back to me. I’ll come for you.

The moon was a white hook in the sky as they dragged me into the Dead Forest. The decaying stumps poking out of the snow like toothpicks. I could feel the weight of the dead beneath us, the air vacant, totally absent of life.

A tall, thin figure walked toward me through the snow, his face a sliver of pale beneath his hood. A Brother. Crouching down, he picked me up by the arm and lowered his face to mine, ready to take my soul, my secrets. I closed my eyes. I could smell the bitterness of his breath. I pressed my lips together and thought of Dante, imagining it was him.

That’s when something strange happened. I didn’t feel scared or angry or even weak. I could barely feel anything except cold. I shuddered as I felt a prickling chill hurtling toward me.

Dante, his skin as white as the dead trees around us.

He dove between the Brother and me, his lips brushing past mine as he shoved the Undead onto the forest floor, knocking him out with a swift kick to the head. Dante whisked me off the ground and took me into his arms. Our bodies fit together, my limbs tangled with his until I couldn’t tell which were mine and which were Dante’s, and I began to melt, the warmth seeping through my palms and traveling higher, higher, through my hands, my arms, my throat, my lips, until I was crying. The chest from the lake bounced up and down in my bag as he ran. My fingers tightened around his shoulders, and I closed my eyes, smelling the sweetness of pine in the air; hearing the symphony of the trees creaking in the wind, the crows crying from branches, the snow crunching beneath Dante’s feet, his heart beating an irregular staccato as we vanished into the woods, until there was nothing left of us but a swirling, snowy gust.