"Pretty sure the styrofoam cup with a packet of chocolate-flavored sand is a universal thing," Liz says, dubiousness now turned on Red.

No luck with the sensor. She huffs an irritated breath at it, her breath fogging in front of her in the cold, and goes to shove it back into her pocket, but then she catches movement out of the corner of her eye and looks up sharply, tensing--

And it's one of the snow monsters again, a snow-coated branch swaying in the wind just beyond the ring of light from her flashlight.

She sighs, aggrieved.