Three days later, the snow had stopped, but the cold had grown worse. Elias had settled into the clinic, unpacking his medical supplies and setting up a small office. He’d seen a few patients—an old man with arthritis, a child with a fever—but his thoughts kept drifting back to Jake Miller’s body. He’d performed an autopsy the day after his arrival, and the results had only deepened his confusion. The claw marks were made by something with five digits, each ending in a sharp, curved ...