“Try to breathe,” I say. “I’m sure we’ll find it.”

“We should have found it already! I had it on my person.”

“Try to close your eyes and picture the last time you touched it,” Josh says.

Kayla laughs, announcing her return to the car. She’s definitely looking more spry. She slings her backpack into the back. “Way to make it sound pornographic, Joshie.”

“It’s not pornographic.” Josh sounds annoyed. “It’s a psychological trick. It can work when you’re trying to remember something.”

“I agree with that,” Brecken says. “Try to picture it. It might help.”

“I don’t need to try,” Harper snaps, zipping her bag shut. “I had it in my right coat pocket when I called the rental agency. I haven’t touched it since.”

“Maybe you’re remembering wrong,” Brecken says. “You’ve got a lot on your—” He cuts himself off, and she shoots him an alarmed look.

“We could check the station again,” I say.

“I checked every inch of the bathroom and the aisle where I walked,” she says. “I had it in the car. I’m sure of it. I remember putting the card back.”

Wind blows in through the open trunk, spraying snow onto the seats.

“Close that and get in here,” Brecken says. “Let’s just sit and think for a minute.”

Another blast of wind comes in, and this time Josh and Kayla swear, turning their heads away from the shot of icy air. Harper closes the hatchback with a thunk and moves to the passenger door where I’m searching. She opens the back.

“I can ride back there,” I tell her.

“No, you should be up front,” Harper says. “It helps with car sickness.”

“We’ll be partners in crime, Mira,” Brecken says, winking at me. I think he means to be friendly, but my laugh comes too late and lands flat.

The last thing I want is to sit near this poster boy for old-school fraternities, but what argument can I use? No thanks, I’d rather be nauseated in the back seat. I relent, sliding into the front seat and closing my door against the cold.

The leather is warm thanks to the seat warmers. Heat seeps through my coat and into the backs of my thighs, and now that I’m not nauseated, it’s nice. I put my bag on the floor and buckle my seat belt. The man with the yellow cap still hasn’t come outside. The parking lot has emptied some; travelers moved on, I guess. I look at the station, but it’s hard to see who’s inside with the snow picking up again.

“We need to pay those assholes. Who has cash?” I ask.

“Don’t look at me,” Kayla says. “I have like three dollars.”

Josh shrugs. “I have nothing. I don’t carry cash.”

“Right, because you’re in the twenty-first century,” Harper says with a sigh.