When Hannah was a little girl, her mother told her stories about winter thieves. They were men who turned on villages when snows got bad and food hard to find. They'd take whatever they needed, attack anyone who fought back, and then disappear again into the mountain roads and caves.

Chell was a safe place, surrounded by thick, unfriendly forest. But they had been invaded before. The last time was when she and Rio were small, and their father young and strong. They had hidden in their parents' room while Da guarded the door. They were lucky that night – the thieves missed their house, and nothing was stolen from them.

Hannah had thought she would never have to worry about thieves again. But that year's winter was an evil one. Unlucky.

It started with a faraway scream. It jarred Hannah from her sleep, but then everything was quiet, and she thought she'd imagined it. Her room pulsed with warm candlelight – even at this age, she hadn't really lost her childhood fear. The deep orange lull was telling her to go back to sleep. She started to roll and shut her eyes, but then she heard a strange thud from somewhere in the house. Her father's room. Things bumping in the night.

She sat up. She was a light sleeper, so if something was going on, there was no hope of ignoring it. She slid out her feet, stepping on cold floorboards. She waited, listening to the silence for a moment. It broke suddenly, frighteningly, with a cry that could only be Da's. Her heart locked as she ran out into the hall. Something crashed, and her father grunted in pain. He was fighting someone!

There was a second scream, and the shudder of something collapsing. She jerked open her father's door, afraid of what she might find. No one. The window hung open, curtains fluttering, but the intruder was gone. Her Da lay at her feet, chest heaving.

Hannah dropped to her knees, touching her father's face, saying his name. But his eyes were glassy, and he couldn't seem to hear her. What did they do to you?

Anxiously, she leapt up, going to the window. There were men out there, intruders and villagers scattered in the night. Some fighting, some running. Hannah tried to find the man who'd hurt her Da, but there was no way to tell. She wasn't even sure if he'd taken anything, but he must have – the cupboards and drawers were hanging open, insides spilled.

She heard something then, something that made her go very still. The front door opening, and someone rushing in on fast feet.

She turned, listening quietly. Another one had just gotten into the house. And he was coming. He was going to find her, a scared, defenseless girl, and her father down, unable to move. No, no. Her hands fumbled, searching desperately for something she could use. A bowl, ointment jars, and …

A bottle. A glass bottle, a gift from the neighbors, almost empty of cheap liquor. She tensed, rearing up her hand. A thought slashed across her mind, cold and fierce. I'll kill him. I will kill him before he touches me. This is my house.

Closer. He was coming straight from the living room. He was almost there. A shadow burst into the doorway, but she didn't even look.

"Hannah – !" she heard her name, even as the bottle sailed straight for his head. Only at the last second did her brother drop down out of the way, the bottle smashing loudly on the wall right where his face had been.

Hannah stepped back in shock. "Rio?" she breathed. Her head was spinning. She couldn't believe she had almost …

"Shut the window," her brother ordered.

She turned quickly, yanking the wood flaps in tight. Instantly, the room fell dark, silent except for her father's soft wheezing. "Da?" she heard her brother's voice, shaky-sounding.

Hannah went to them, but she didn't know what to say. Her brother felt like a half-stranger now that she hadn't seen him for a week. She wanted to ask what brought him back, but the question froze on her tongue. Perhaps it was because she already knew the answer, hard as it was to believe.

She knelt down, clenching her hands. What had the past few days been like, without her brother? Nothing. She'd felt nothing at all. She knew this was not how Ma would want them to be, but she didn't know if they could ever get along. "What are we going to do?" she asked her brother. She waited, but got no answer.

He shifted over their father, and then she heard it. The soft, painful sound of Rio crying.

Outside, horses whined and raced by. They were leaving. The thieves were leaving Chell.

But Hannah felt no relief. She was thinking to herself how one day, this would be nothing more than a story to the village children. The night of the winter thieves. Only this time was different. This time, they had stolen from the Ivers.

By dawn, the village was quiet. In the gray hour, Rio still clutched his father, his face so broken, it hurt to see.

Hannah got tiredly to her feet, peeping out the window. The villagers were awake, but didn't seem alive. Only men were outside, talking quietly, shaking their heads. There was no sign of the women or children, and nearly every house had been shuttered up. The thieves might have gone, but the fear had not.

Hannah turned to look at her brother. She wouldn't let her eye rest on her poor Da. The thought of her once-strong father as this, as nothing – she couldn't face that. "Rio," she whispered. A weak bit of sun was coming into the room, light on the back of her hand. The day was going on, trying to get them to do the same.

But her brother wouldn't move, not even when she said his name again.

I can't do this. Not by myself.

She rushed from the room, past her brother and out into the hallway. Her steps seemed loud and strange all of a sudden in this house. This large, gaping house. She made it to the door, bursting out into the cold morning. A few men looked at her as she walked, but no one said anything. She rushed across the village, over to the Averys' house. Someone was outside – Kurt. He saw her coming, and immediately hurried over. "Hannah."

"Your father."

"What?"

"Please, I need your father."

"Of course. But why … ?"

Behind him, the door opened, Tom Avery standing in the gap of it. There was some muttering and hushing going on behind his back, and he snapped at whoever it was to go back inside. Shutting the door behind him, he came up, standing beside his son. "Hannah?" he asked, concerned.

His voice hurt her, its softness, its feeling. It drew something from her – light, sudden tears.

"Hannah, what's happened?" he demanded.

"Please. Can you come?"

"To the house?"

"I didn't know … what else to do."

"It's alright. Take me, quickly."

She turned, and he ordered Kurt to stay, 'just in case'. As if the thieves might come back. The thought burned inside her, making the tears come harder, hot with anger. Tom Avery saw it, but he thought wrongly. He tried to take hold of her shoulders, but she moved away.

Rio needs him. More than I do. "Hurry," she pleaded, forcing herself to keep moving. But deep down, she knew there was nothing Tom Avery could do. She knew it was too late.