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“What do you hope to find?” he asked at last.

Idonea turned to face him. The wind teased a strand of hair across her cheek. “You and I both know how it feels to lose a sister. Edik deserves justice.”

He stepped closer. “And?”

“The sigil,” she said. “I can use it to track the daemon. Freshly, accurately.”

With a nod, he led her closer towards the chapel. He crouched down beside the steps, fingers brushing over the hardened ground, all remnants of blood gone. “This is where it happened.”

She knelt beside him, sweeping snow aside with gloved fingers. Her stomach sank. The sigil was gone, erased as if the ground itself had been scrubbed of truth.

“Someone’s removed it.” She sat back on her haunches. “But … how?”

Idonea’s fingers touched the stars upon her collarbone, eyes widening. The sound she’d heard the night of the murder. Something had come back. It wasn’t just a wraith watching. It was standing sentry.

Lysander touched her on the shoulder. “We will find it.”

She wanted to believe him. She rose, shaking snow from her gloves. “There is nothing left here.”

Behind them, the chapel doors groaned open, spilling a faint, sickly light into the dark. The other witches stepped out.

“Idonea!”

Kitsa bounded towards them. Her cheeks were flushed, and eyes gleaming. She moved with a reckless lightness that knocked something loose in Idonea's chest. Dyota had run exactly like that, arms swinging wide, too fast for the space she was in.

Idonea crushed the thought before it could become grief.

“Is she free?” Kitsa asked, tilting her head at Lysander.

His expression tightened. “No.”

“Come with me,” she said, grabbing Idonea’s hand. “Help me.”

“Kitsa—”

But the girl was already tugging her along, steps light and careless across the snow. Idonea cast a look back. Lysander hadn’t moved. He watched her long after they left the square.

Kitsa led her past the stables, down a trail hemmed in by skeletal trees. Ice glittered on every branch.

Halfway down the path, a figure rose from the riverbank and moved towards them through the mist, carrying nothing. Lidiya was walking up from the river alone.

Idonea's neck prickled. What was she doing down there?

The woman slowed as she neared, her dark eyes flicking between them. "Kitsa." Her voice was low, weary.

"Lidiya." Kitsa's grip on Idonea's wrist tightened a fraction.

They stopped on the path, the two of them, Kitsa half-turned, Lidiya with her boots planted in the snow. Lysander was ten paces behind and stopped as well.

"You're taking her down."

"I am."

Lidiya nodded once. "Mind the second rock." Her gaze drifted to the river behind them. "The one nearest the far bank. The lichen's loose. I nearly went in last week."

Kitsa offered a smile. "I'll mind it."

"Good." But Lidiya didn't move on. Her eyes had found Idonea now, and held there, steady and unblinking. Idonea forced herself not to look away, though the weight of that gaze pressed against her chest like a held breath. The birthmark beneath Lidiya's left eye stood stark against her skin.