Walking on ice was nothing like walking on the ground.

Elise had never really realized it, but there was something soothing about having all of that dirt beneath you. When she was scared, she could just think about all of the worms and roots and rocks that were working together to support her and she felt a little better.

Over the lake, though, it was different. There was none of that busy comfort, just a yawning expanse of ice. It made her think of the posters at the theater where big things were about to eat swimmers. Except she didn’t like that _at all _because she knew who she was in that situation, so she tried to focus on the scratch and slide of her thick boots against the ice.

Just a little farther. Just a bit more and she would arrive at the neighbors’ lodge and the Robinsons would give her cocoa and laugh and say that adults disappeared sometimes but they always come back. _Always,_ they’d promise and it would be fine because it was just one of the grown-up alwayses that she didn’t quite get yet. But they would be back. Her parents would be home.

It would be fine except she couldn’t see her house back the way she had come anymore. It would be fine except all she could see was the white of the sky and the giant pane of too-smooth glass beneath her feet.

Elsie thought she felt a hand land on her shoulder, but when she turned, there was no one there. When had it gotten so misty?

She heard snatches of noise like tapes being played backwards—maybe it was a voice, but certainly not like she’d heard before.

Then the wind let up slightly, and of course she recognized the sound. Why hadn’t she?

“You’re so close, love,” her mother’s voice coaxed. “Come home.”