Page 79 of Tracking Snow

Unless we were called out, which has been a lot recently.

At least inside, we were never alone.

But I could always escape our prison in a way the others couldn’t.

Right now, there is no one between me and this moment. No one between me and Snow’s hand. No one to blunt how badly I want to lower my face and press my mouth to the crown of her head just once. So I do it. Softly.

She sighs.

The sound goes straight through me.

And now I fully and completely understand every stupid thing Four has ever wanted to do. Every rule One has broken for her. Every time Two pretended not to care while leaning closer anyway.

Snow makes sense of us. Gives us some semblance of peace.

And I am desperate to get closer to that feeling. To her.

I close my eyes again and push myself into sleep.

The others fall asleep. When I do it, it’s an act of force. Soon, I find myself hurtling through time and space in that special way that makes me feel unmoored and slightly tingly.

Having Snow wrapped in my arms makes it easier to jump from thought to thought, from room to room, until my feet find their grounding. I push the hood down now that I’m here.

The furniture is old, and even the curtains look to be made of cheap, scratchy material that is barely filtering the predawn light. Two girls sit on the floor of the living room.

Teenagers. One is a little person with a high forehead, red hair, and a button nose. The other I immediately recognize as Snow. They both have matching, jagged cut bangs that are too high and uneven to have been done by a professional.

Two apples float between them as they giggle.

A lone pencil case with a unicorn on it looks like it’s wearing out.

In Snow’s dream, they hold hands, sharing a private moment.

Suddenly, I feel like a creep, sneaking into Snow’s subconscious, just to be near her. But it was the others who fought with her.

I want to be near her. No, I need to be near her.

"What are you doing here?" teenage Snow asks, suddenly turning to look directly at me.

My heart rockets in my throat as I stumble back a step.

Still, I twist to see if anyone is behind me, but there’s no one. She’s really looking at me.

"I—uh. You can see me," I stutter slightly. When I dreamwalk, I go unnoticed unless I try to make drastic changes to the person’s subconscious. Only small, subtle changes can be made without drawing attention to myself or screwing up someone’s head for a while.

Not that I’m here to influence her. That’s reserved for the powers that be who make big decisions, and I only do it when I’m told to. I’ve only ever preferred to be a quiet witness.

"Of course I can see you," teenage Snow says, getting up from the floor.

One of the apples drops to the ground with a thud.

The other girl continues on as if Snow were still sitting across from her, quietly giggling conspiratorially.

As Snow nears, her image flickers and morphs until she is the woman I know. Instead of the beige pajamas, she’s in her usual city stalking outfit. Her hair is long and unmarred once again.

White curtains flutter from the side, distracting me.

"I haven’t met you before," Snow says, bringing my attention back to her.