In the morning he rode some more, and when he couldn’t take the walls closing him in, he went outside for air. He rubbed his throbbing calves and set out for a walk, looking again for Ariel. An island in Islip, he thought. Islip was huge, but only some of it touched the waterfront. He walked up and down it all day, his radio in his backpack, looking for any sign of human life. On the second day he found an island, and on the third he found an occupied house: a trimmed lawn, a cultured garden, a stained porch that had once been wrapped in vines, now studiously cleaned. Marcus walked up the warping wooden steps and knocked on the door.

The sound of a racking shotgun slide was hardly a surprise, and Marcus didn’t even flinch.

“Who’s there?”

“My name is Marcus Valencio,” said Marcus. “We’ve met before, though it’s been a few years. I’m a friend of Kira’s.”

A pause, then: “Go away.”

“I need to talk to you,” said Marcus.

“I said go away.”

“Nandita’s disappeared—”

“Good riddance.”

“Ariel, look, I don’t know what kind of falling-out you had with them; I don’t know why you hate them so much. I can assure you they don’t hate you. But that’s not why I’m here—they didn’t send me, I’m not going to report back to them or tell you to visit them or anything like that. I’m definitely not trying to find Kira to turn her in to Morgan. I’m just trying to figure something out.”

Ariel didn’t answer, and Marcus waited. And waited. After a full minute he realized she was probably just ignoring him, and turned to leave, but as he did he saw that she had a small bench on her porch; not a swing, just a low wooden seat to sit and watch the world go by. He brushed away some dirt, sat down, and started talking.