She called a car and waited at the door with her mask around her neck. She checked that the scarf was still in her purse. The doorbell went off and she saw the car. Run, she thought. Who cares. She put her mask up and ran to the car, slammed the door shut behind her, tied the scarf around her eyes, breathed heavy in the backseat.

The car made a small ding. She lifted a side of the scarf. With one eye she saw that the screen was prompting her. She pressed Hospital on the list of common destinations.

Paz was waiting for her in the lobby and walked her to Jana’s room. Paz wasn’t saying anything, so Izabel didn’t either.

In the room, Jana wasn’t in a hospital gown—she was dressed like any preteen girl, jeans and a T-shirt, studs in her ears, little teal flowers. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail that looked perfectly combed. Izabel wondered if she’d spent time looking nice for her or if she always looked so put-together.

“Thank you,” Jana said. Izabel wasn’t expecting that. She suddenly felt a wave of guilt. She just wanted to say hello first. And honestly, she’d been preparing herself for the worst, for Jana to hate her for being so presumptuous as to volunteer herself and her family to take care of her.

Before Izabel could say anything, Paz asked her, “Where’s the rest of your family?”

“Kaito’s working and Cami’s at school.”

“We need them here so we can take you all to the new house.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“We moved a lot around to make this happen,” Paz said. “You still want this new place, right?”

“Yes,” Izabel said. She turned to Jana, and said, “Sorry.” Jana sat down on the bed while Izabel tried contacting Kaito on her tablet again, asked him to get Cami from school and get to the hospital.

Then Paz said, “There are forms you have to sign.”

“Okay,” Izabel said.

“They’re not here. I’ll walk you over.”

This was not how Izabel wanted any of this to go. “Can Jana come with us?”

Paz looked at Izabel like she was nuts. “No. She’ll stay in the room.”

Izabel apologized to Jana again.

Out of the room, Izabel was glad, at least, to not be smiling at Jana while she kept remembering how it had felt to drag her body across a living room floor. Izabel realized that her fingers must have left bruises on Jana’s arms.

As Paz and Izabel walked through the halls, Izabel kept noticing the men around her, patients and nurses and doctors. In her head she went through them—too short, too broad-shouldered—ticking off each of them against her brief memory of the killer.