Josh’s bag is about what we’d expect. The kit he’d pulled out earlier when Harper cut her finger, some wrinkled clothes, the paperback of Kafka, a few pens, an energy bar, a binder stuffed with notebooks, large envelopes, and a couple of folders. Classic college-student detritus. Nothing is sinister. Nothing is even particularly interesting.

Harper’s bag is the surprise of the hour. Inside her buttery leather duffel that probably cost more than everything I own, she produces two equally gorgeous toiletries bags, crammed so full that both of the zippers bulge. There’s a wad of clothes, some battered-looking notebooks, a hair straightener with a tangled cord. In general, the bag is such a mess, I’d think she only had ten minutes to pack for a last-minute flight.

“Wow.” Brecken’s face reflects my surprise. He reaches gingerly, pushing at a leather pouch with a mother-of-pearl button holding it closed. Everything else is a disaster, but this case is immaculate. Sleek and spotless.

Harper opens it, her cheeks flushing lightly. Four pens, heavy and expensive-looking, are lined up in the pouch. It’s as lovely as the sleek journal she was writing in.

“They’re Parkers,” she says. “They have a nice feel in the hand.”

Brecken cocks his head. “They have a nice feel in the hand?”

Her flush deepens. “I told you I write letters. My grandfather loved good pens. I get it honest.”

“You’re next,” Brecken says, looking at Kayla.

She dumps her bag without saying a word, and I wish instantly she hadn’t. Clothes similar to the dress she’s wearing now fall out, folded faded dresses and a pair of jeans that make it painfully clear how thin she really is. A broken hairbrush sits atop the mix, next to a ziplock bag with a toothbrush and a sliver of soap. She’s got a couple of lighters and a small sleeve-style wallet that lands faceup. A picture of Kayla—a younger, healthier Kayla—stares up from behind the plastic ID sleeve. There’s no phone. No cords. And certainly no wad of cash stolen from Harper’s wallet.

“Wait a minute,” Kayla says, apparently to herself.

Her brow puckers as she unrolls dresses, shakes out a sweater. She’s looking for something, and by the way her shoulders tense, it’s clear she’s not finding it.

Harper lifts a hand, maybe misinterpreting Kayla’s actions. “That’s okay. We’ve seen enough.”

But Kayla doesn’t stop. I don’t think she’s doing this for our benefit. She lost something, too. She pauses, hands shaking and her mouth a thin, hard line. Whatever she’s looking for, she is not happy she lost it.

“I guess that’s that,” Brecken says. “I’m sorry. I just… It’s weird.”

“We’re not done,” Kayla says, her voice sharp.

I nod at Brecken. “We haven’t seen your bag yet.”