Fern said she knew a place he could go, a hideaway that the sun never reached and the ice was miles thick. Drifts of snow swept in on the howling winds, packing tight against the caverns for insulation. She’d take him, and he could make a home there, revel in the ice storms as they raged day and night for weeks on end, trick himself into believing things were the way they used to be, the way they were supposed to be. He’d be safe from the sun’s heat for a few years, she reckoned, but she couldn’t promise much more than that. The world was melting and it cared nothing for those who could not suffer the heat.