The seasons turned, and Mira turned with them. September gave way to October, and the trees in the park began to lose their leaves, and Mira watched them fall with a fascination that was almost anthropological—the way the green drained from the blades one by one, the way they turned yellow and orange and red before letting go, the way they carpeted the ground in layers of dying color. She had walked through the Thornwood so many times that she had begun to forget how many—the silver-barked tree...