HOO?

Chug, chug, chug, chug . . . chug, chug, chug, chug.

“Duck,” Ali called.

Peter plastered his body against a thick trunk.

The Monorail’s headlight exited the Tunnel, barreling counter-clockwise along the elevated track—estimated speed: twenty-four miles per hour.

It plummeted. And squealed to a halt at the Forest station—approximate wait time: ninety seconds.

Steady.

He looked up. Straight up. And counted—all things radiating from the giant spruce.

One, two, three, four—knots. Two, four, six, eight—branch stubs. Three, six, nine, twelve—whorls. Five, ten, fifteen—

Whoa. A pair of yellow eyes stared down from a gnarled branch. Same as the picture in the Kreisfirth brochure. Aegolius funereus—a boreal owl.

Its flat face rotated like a watch dial: Clockwise—counter-clockwise. Clockwise—counter-clockwise. Clockwise—counter-clockwise.

Hypnotizing.

“Pe-ter,” Ali hissed.

He jumped.

“Do you think the conductor saw us?” she asked.