Claire made it back to the house just before dark.
Sarah met her at the door, concern evident in her face. "You've been gone five hours. I was about to—" She stopped, seeing something in Claire's expression. "What happened?"
"Is she awake?"
"Yes. She's been asking for you." Sarah stepped aside. "Claire, what—"
"I need to talk to her." Claire moved past, shedding her jacket, dropping her backpack by the door. "Alone. Please."
Sarah nodded slowly. "I'll be in the kitchen."
---
Ruth was propped up on her pillows, the oxygen concentrator maintaining its rhythm. She looked worse than she had that morning—grayer, more translucent, as if she were already beginning to fade from the world. But her eyes were clear when they found Claire's face.
"You went to the den," Ruth said. Not a questio
