And for the first time in three years, Olivia didn't know whether to run—or follow.
The wind died. The gate stopped clanking. Olivia felt the cold then—not from the air, but from inside her own chest, where a memory of Jane's laugh used to live. olivia would jane wilde
"I came to ask you one thing," Olivia whispered. And for the first time in three years,
Jane didn't turn. Her coat was too thin for the wind. Her hair moved like a question mark. but from inside her own chest
"They say you died, Jane. Three years ago. Fell through ice. No body. Just a hole in the river and a scarf on a branch."