Boots hit the second-floor landing and the whole house shook, and Mara pushed me at the window with both hands.
"Go, I'll hold the stairs, I'm allowed to be here, you're not, GO."
"They'll ask why the board's up."
"I'll tell them I pried it grieving. Widows dig. Everyone knows widows dig." She was already smoothing her robe, already rebuilding the smiling Luna over her own face piece by piece, chin, mouth, hands folded, and the speed of it turned my stomach. Two years of practice. You could watch her put the mask on the way other people put on a coat. "Sable. The window."
The latch fought me the way it never had. Cold had swollen the frame, and my hands were full, box wedged under my left arm, letter inside my shirt against my skin, and below the boots came up the last flight and a voi
