“Go to sleep now. We’ll talk about this more in the morning.” I tiptoe toward my bed again, toward the safe blank slate of Chase. Her plea hangs in the air, but I refuse to give her an answer now. I need time to think.

“Sleep tight, Alex,” she says. “This could be good for you, you know.”

I feel the fire surging in my belly, but I don’t turn around. I don’t bite. I won’t dare say another word.

RUTH

I wake to the sound of a blender crunching ice in the kitchen. It’s midmorning, judging by the light streaming in through the window. I sit up, pulling the sheet around me, and see Chase by the counter.

“Hey,” he says, opening the lid of the blender and poking inside with a spoon. “Sorry about that. I guess I woke you.” He’s dressed in workout gear, complete with an enormous watch on his wrist. “I’ve got an acai berry immuno-enhancer going here. You’re welcome to a glass.”

“I’m good,” I say.

“You’re missing out.” He reaches up to a cupboard and grabs a glass from a perfectly symmetrical row. There are also white coffee mugs in there, identically spaced.

“Where’s Alex?” It’s so quiet: even with the window open, there are no sounds to suggest other people exist. I’m not used to being in such a small town anymore.

“Oh, she left at sevenish. Guess you’re a pretty deep sleeper, huh?” Chase pours the purple gloop into a glass. He tastes it, then sucks a thick foamy line from his upper lip. “She works eight till four at Family Services.”

Family Services? “That can’t be right,” I say, trying to keep my voice even.

Chase cocks his head to one side. “Don’t tell me you don’t even know what your sister does for a living.”

“I had no idea,” I say. And it’s true. Alex cut off all communication after I left.

“She’s a social worker. Child protection.”

I nod slowly, light dawning. Child protection. The irony is astounding.

“You really didn’t know?” He sets down his smoothie.

“We haven’t exactly been BFFs.” I get up, bunching the sheet into a ball behind me.

He takes a long draught of his juice, watching me over the rim of the glass. When he’s done, he wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist. “But you were close as kids? You grew up together?”

“Oh, we did everything together,” I say. She’s told him nothing at all, I see that now.

“But it was a tiny town, right? Alex told me she grew up in North Dakota, but when I googled the town name—Horizon—I saw only grain silos and fields.”