Everyone who said hell was fire and flames was wrong. Hell was the biting cold and dark skies that came with the season Winter Pierce was named for.

“You’re brooding,” River said as he walked by, mug of coffee in hand.

Winter didn’t stop trying to glare the icy street below the window out of existence. “Of course I am. It’s dark and it’s cold.”

River stopped, then backed up until he was at her side. “Can’t you sign up for afternoon shifts?”

Not anymore. But River couldn’t know about that. “Then it would be dark when I leave work instead.” Winter sighed. “This place really is hell.”

Her brother took another sip of his coffee, undoubtedly coming up with a polite way to tell her she was being ridiculous. “And what exactly do you think you’re being punished for?”

Two weeks ago, Winter wouldn’t have had an answer. But killing someone and impersonating them probably left some kind of mark on your soul. Even if the death was an accident. Even if it was to save your mother.

“Come on, Winter,” River pressed. “Snow’s just snow. Seasons are just seasons.”

“And Devil’s Pass is just a city built too far north for my taste.” Winter finally turned around, sick of staring at the dark street outside their apartment building. The hallway River had been headed for branched off to her left. The space in front of her was the family’s dining and living room. The wooden floors were always cold, the white walls could do with a fresh coat of paint, and the sparse furniture had been there for as long as Winter could remember.

River reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a golden locket. The golden locket. “Would it cheer you up if I let you win this back?”

Winter snorted. “Let me win? Yeah, right.” Her gaze flickered to the old grandfather clock on the other side of the dining table. “But we don’t have time for a card game.” Last time Dad had caught them playing cards before work, he’d warned them that he’d confiscate the deck for a month if they were late.

“Lucky draw, then?” River raised an eyebrow. “Come on. You have nothing to lose.”

“Fine.”

Winter followed River through the dining room into the kitchen, where Mom was packing up her own bag to go to work at the bank near City Hall. Her long hair, the same shade of dark brown as River’s, hung in a thick braid down her back.

River’s hair had almost grown long enough to be pulled back, too. Dad would probably tell him to go get a trim soon.

Mom slid on one of her gloves. “You two leaving now?” she asked as she reached for the other.

“In a minute.” River opened a drawer and pulled out the card deck. He shuffled the stack a few times, then fanned them out across the counter facedown and gestured for Winter to pick one. After she made her choice, he selected his own card.

Winter held up hers. “Six of roses.”

“Damn.” River revealed his. Two of suns.

Winter laughed and held out her hand. Despite losing, River grinned as he dropped the locket into her palm. “Enjoy it while it lasts,” he told her. “After dinner tonight, I’m beating you at devil’s bridge.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Winter slid the locket into her coat.

Still smiling, River asked, “You walking out with Mom and I?”

“I have to get my bag from my room,” Winter replied. “And if I leave now, I’ll be early, anyway.” She nodded to the cards spread out on the counter. “I can put those away.”

“That’s the winner’s job, anyway.”

Winter rolled her eyes. “Sure.”

“We’ll see you tonight, then,” Mom said as she finished buttoning her coat and picked up her bag. “Your father said he’s making casserole, so be back by six. Both of you.”

Winter nodded. “See you tonight.”

While Mom and River headed out, Winter gathered up the cards. The last one she picked up was her winning card, and she took a moment to run her thumb along the edge, to study the white roses printed on the front. It had been a couple of weeks since she and River had made time to play a real game. It would be nice to take her mind off of things for an hour or so.

She returned the cards to the drawer and walked to her room. Pausing in her doorway, she took the locket back out. Her thumb pressed the button on top and it popped open, revealing the photograph of Daisy—the Saint Bernard they’d lost to old age three years ago—with Winter and River on either side of her.

So sentimental this morning. Winter shook her head. Maybe she was getting sick. She crossed the room to her window and pushed it open. A blast of frigid wind greeted her, making her wince. Jaw clenched, hand shivering, she grabbed her black bag off the dark tiled roof below and yanked it inside.

Cold as it was, this rear roof was the best hiding place. Her family wouldn’t stumble across the bag accidentally, and the high stone wall behind their building made it impossible to access or even see the roof from anywhere but Winter’s window.

She slung the bag over her shoulder and returned to the kitchen. Dad was up now, reading the newspaper at the counter. He looked up as she entered. “Off to the station?”

Winter nodded and set her bag on the counter. As she pulled her long white-blonde hair up into a ponytail—lighter than even Dad’s blonde—she noticed his gaze linger on the black bag a little too long for comfort.

“Mom said you’re making casserole tonight?” Winter asked, hoping to distract him.

It worked. His pale blue eyes flitted to her. “That’s the plan. You’ll be back by six?”

“I should be.” Winter picked her bag back up. “See you tonight.”

“See you tonight.”

Winter pulled her hood over her head and stepped out into the darkness. It was already seven a.m., but there wasn’t even a hint of sun on the horizon. Only dull streetlights and the glow from apartment windows offered a glimpse of the snowflakes drifting through the air.

She hurried down the icy metal stairs as fast as she dared, sparing a quick glance at the drawn curtains of the apartment below hers. Rumor had it the Fischers were getting sick, but she had yet to see them come into the hospital.

They probably couldn’t afford it.

Winter waited for the trolley under the streetlight that flickered more and more each day. She kept a gloved hand wrapped around the knife in her pocket. She’d yet to hear of any trouble on this block, but enough mugging victims came into the hospital each week to keep her on her toes. Of course, that wasn’t her department.

The trolley finally came rolling up the tracks, bell ringing and loose parts rattling, a little more of its yellow paint chipped off than the day before. Winter nodded a greeting at the conductor as she climbed in and made her way to the back.

The new routine was becoming familiar: passing the city guard station where she used to organize files, getting off the trolley at a restaurant across the street from the hospital, changing into her stolen uniform in the bathroom, and sneaking out the window.

Winter paused outside the restaurant to stare across the street at the hospital. The building sat at the very edge of the city’s north side, its back facing the forest beyond. Besides the restaurant, there were also a few shops and apartments on this street, but it was clear that this area bordered on wilderness. The dark forest loomed in the gaps between buildings. Some mornings, Winter could hear the cries of animals. Occasional howls that chilled her blood.

The snow began to fall faster. Still, she turned to gaze at the rest of Devil’s Pass. The land sloped down from here, and from the right angle, she could see the trolley tracks snaking down the pass. Then there were the sections of stone wall around the city, the warm glow of streetlights scattered in the darkness, and even the gleaming bronze dome of City Hall.

Mountains loomed over it all, icy and jagged, towering in every direction. Apparently, they made most people feel protected. Winter just felt trapped.

Unable to stand the suffocating view any longer, she went inside.

The smell of coffee and cooking sausages followed Winter as she hurried past the front counter and into the bathroom before any employees could notice her. In one of the stalls, she shrugged off her coat and kicked off her boots. The black long-sleeved shirt and pants she wore underneath were too thin to keep out the cold, but they were perfect to wear with the Plague Saint’s uniform.

The uniform was mostly black leather—the coat, the hat, the boots, the gloves. The exception was the beaked bronze mask that attached to an upper faceplate. It covered the front of Winter’s head and hid her eyes under dark lenses. It was apparently a simpler, sleeker version of something from the old world, according to the texts she’d found in the real Plague Saint’s office. Something even older than the rare pieces of technology in the hospital labs.

She ran a finger along the curved metal beak. This mask had always struck her as unnecessary. The other doctors wore simple surgical masks and managed to avoid catching their patients’ illnesses. Winter didn’t know much about the man whose place she’d taken, but she suspected he had a flair for the dramatic. After all, he’d quickly embraced the title of Saint when people first began whispering it years ago.

Or maybe he’d simply hoped the strange outfit would distract from the fact that he was on the shorter side. It certainly worked to Winter’s advantage. She was just tall enough to make the uniform fit.

This wasn’t the only uniform. The Saint had several more in his office, all identical. And of course, there was the one still on his body, somewhere. Winter shuddered at the thought.

The uniform’s coat buttoned up and its thin hood went underneath the hat. Winter put the mask on last, threw her bag over her shoulder, and pressed an ear to the stall door. The bathroom was usually empty this time of morning—even with the restaurant already serving breakfast—but she couldn’t be too careful.

Nothing. She slipped out of the stall, made her way to the window, and climbed into the alley behind the building.