The train hummed softly beneath them as it cut through the icy Alps, descending toward the heart of the continent. Frost blurred the window edges, the world outside painted in white and silver streaks. Violet sat by the window, her chin resting lightly against her palm, watching the landscape slip past mountains melting into valleys, valleys fading into the sprawl of cities that pulsed faintly with light and noise.

Every mile brought them closer to New York.

She had dreamed of returning a thousand times, but never like this not as a ghost of her former life, not as a fugitive carrying the weight of a dying world’s conscience. Her...