The snow kept falling, thick and silent, burying the world in white like it was trying to erase what Mara had done. Two days after the transport van went off the road, the news was still chewing on it grainy dashcam footage leaked online showing the armored truck crumpled against a snowbank, doors torn open, bodies inside like broken dolls. No sign of Mara. Just blood trails leading into the trees, already half-covered by snow. Authorities called it a "an escape attempt gone wrong." Survivors, none. The driver's final radio call looped in every broadcast: "She's not human… she's…"
They cut it off there. Always cut it off.
I watched the clips on my phone in the dim kitchen light, volume low so Mom and Mia wouldn't wake. The Aether thrummed in my chest, not hungry yet, but… interested. Like it recognized its own handiwork. Luca had texted once since the breakout: "She's out there. We need to find her before the song does again." No follow up. Torin was dark too. The squad was fracturing, pieces scattering like blood on snow.
Mom found me at the table at 3 a.m., staring at the screen until my eyes burned. She didn't turn on the light just pulled a chair close and sat. Her hand rested on my forearm, warm against the chill that lived under my skin now.
"You're thinking of going after her," she said. Not a question.
I nodded once. "She's one of us. If the Aether took her that hard… it could take any of us next. And if the cops find her first"
"They'll kill her," Mom finished quietly. "Or lock her in a place where nobody can reach. Either way, she's gone. And that's best for you"
Mia's soft footsteps padded down the hall. She appeared in the doorway in oversized pajamas, clutching Shadow. The cat's eyes reflected green in the phone glow. Mia rubbed sleep from her eyes. "Is Auntie Mara okay?"
The nickname twisted something in my gut. Mara had only met Mia once, video call after my return, waving awkwardly, promising to bring her a stuffed mountain lion from the border towns. Now the girl was asking about her like family.
"She's… lost," I said. "In the woods. We might need to help her find her way back."
Mia climbed onto my lap without asking, small body fitting against mine like she always had. "Then we should go get her. Like when Shadow got stuck in the neighbor's yard. We brought him home."
Mom's eyes met mine over Mia's head. Something passed between us—resignation, maybe love. "We can't just drive up there," she said. "The area's crawling with search teams, helicopters, dogs. But if she's still alive… she'll head for high ground. The mountains always call their own."
I felt it then—the pull. Not just sympathy. The Aether stirring, curious, like a predator scenting kin. Mara's escape wasn't random.
We left at dawn.
Mom packed light, blankets, food, first-aid, the old hunting rifle Dad kept oiled in the closet. Mia insisted on bringing her music box and a drawing she'd made: stick-figure Mara standing on a snowy peak, arms open, surrounded by smiling ghosts. "So she knows we're coming," she explained.
The drive north was quiet except for the crunch of tires on salted roads and the low hum of the heater. Snow fell heavier the closer we got to the crash site. Police tape fluttered from trees like red ribbons; tire tracks scarred where the van had gone off. We parked a mile back, hiked in on foot. Mia rode on my shoulders, her mittened hands gripping my hair, humming softly to herself. Not Silent Night. Something else Jingle Bells, off-key and innocent.
The woods were cathedral-silent, pines heavy with snow, branches bowing like they were praying. We followed the faint trail of disturbed snow the search teams had left, then veered deeper when the official paths ended. Mom moved like she'd done this before, quiet steps, eyes scanning for broken twigs, blood on bark. She had. With Dad. Years ago.
Hours in, the temperature dropped hard. Mia's cheeks were pink, breath clouding white. I was about to suggest turning back when we heard it.
A voice. Low. Cracked. Singing.
Sleep in heavenly peace…
The words drifted through the trees, fragile as frost. Mom froze. I set Mia down gently, hand on the rifle slung across my back. We crept forward.
Mara sat against a fallen log in a small clearing, knees drawn up, jumpsuit torn and bloodied—some hers, most not. Her hair was matted with ice, lips blue. She rocked slowly, singing to herself, eyes fixed on nothing. Around her, the snow was churned footprints circling like she'd paced for hours. No fresh kills. At least not yet.
"Mara," I called softly.
Her head snapped up. Hollow eyes met mine. Recognition flickered, then drowned in something older. "Stone…" she rasped. "You came."
Mia stepped forward before I could stop her. "Auntie Mara! We brought you home."
Mara's face crumpled pain, guilt, something like relief. Tears froze on her lashes. "Don't… don't come closer. It's still here. Listening."
The song in my head answered soft, welcoming. The Aether stretched between us like invisible threads, connecting squad to squad, family to family. I felt her pain like my own: Alex's last breath, the kids' small bodies, the cops' pleading eyes. It hurt. Gods, it hurt.
Mom knelt a safe distance away. "We know what it did. We've been… feeding it too. To keep it quiet."
Mara laughed short, broken. "Quiet? It's never quiet. It just waits." She lifted her cuffed hands still chained from the van, the chain had snapped but the bracelets intact. "I killed them all. The guards. The other prisoners. That driver… he had pictures of his kids taped to the dash. Begged me. I still pulled the trigger."
Her voice cracked. "I can still taste his blood."
Mia walked closer anyway. I tensed, ready to grab her, but for some reason I didn't.
Mia held out the drawing. "I made this so you wouldn't be scared anymore."
Mara stared at the paper stick-figure her, smiling amid ghosts. Something shifted in her eyes. Not the hollow thing. Something human. She reached out, trembling, and took it. Tears fell freely now, freezing on her cheeks.
"I don't deserve home," she whispered.
"You do," Mia said simply. "Because you're still trying to fight it."
Mara looked at me then really looked. "The mountains are louder up here. They want us all back. Together. One last offering."
I swallowed. "Then we don't give it one."
But even as I said it, the wind shifted, carrying the faintest echo of piano notes through the trees. Not from a radio. From the air itself. The song wasn't just in our heads anymore.
It was in the world.
Mara stood slowly, chains clinking. "Run," she told us. "Before it decides we're all family now."
Mia shook her head. "We don't leave family behind."
Mom rose beside me, rifle ready not pointed at Mara, but at the trees. "Then we face it together."
The snow kept falling, burying our tracks, our choices, our sins.
And somewhere deeper in the white, the mountains began to sing louder.