The streets gleamed with half-melted snow that caught the amber glow of streetlights like scattered coins.
Silver pulled her wool coat tighter around her shoulders as Carroway fell into step beside her, their footsteps creating a rhythm of wet crunches against the slush that had accumulated along the sidewalks. The music from the hockey house still thumped faintly behind them, bass lines vibrating through the January air, but the sound grew fainter with each block they put between themselves and the celebration that was probably just hitting its stride.
The night air was sharp and wet with the kind of thaw that made New Haven winters unpredictable—warm enough during the day to soften the snow into grey slush, cold enough after sunset to turn every puddle into a potential skating rink. Every breath burned her lungs with the particular sting of winter air that carried moisture, the kind of cold that settled into your bones and stayed there long after you'd found warmth.
