Eureka jumped at Solon’s voice behind her the next morning. She thought she’d been alone on the Bitter Cloud’s roof. She’d climbed the stairs to the veranda at sunrise, curious about the view Ander had seen the night before when he came looking for her. Everything was silver in the morning cloud-light. The Tearline pond had risen, and Eureka didn’t think Brooks’s rock was still above the surface. She relived dropping that gun into the water, kissing Ander in the canoe, confronting the monster she was supposed to fear. She did fear him, and hate him, and love him. He was—they were both—out there somewhere, hidden along the banks. She could feel them, the way she could still feel the nightmare from which she’d just awoken. She’d dreamt she was scaling a mountain in the rain. Near the summit, the earth shifted beneath her. She grabbed hold of something slick and spongy, but it disintegrated in her fingers.
