“She’s not shutting you out. Jo thinks Nah needs to go it alone for a while, and I agree,” I tell him. “Nah just…” I glance back at Ben, who’s looking at Drew with concern. “Maybe you and Ben can talk later. He can explain, I think.”

Ben nods. “I speak Winters now.”

“If she’s using…” Drew looks up at me, his eyes too bright, wild with fear. “If she goes back to her old dose—”

“She’ll call Jo,” I say. “I know she will. She’s almost made it to five months. There’s no way she’d go back to day one so quick. She hates day one.”

“Every addict does,” Drew says. “But that doesn’t stop them.”

Hannah is not going to die tonight. This is just a sim. Another death sim.

It’s easier to face things when you’re ready for them. Not even death can blindside you then.

We get to Harvard Square, but there is no Hannah. We talk to messed-up kids outside the train station, where they all congregate, steps from the university. One of them thinks he may have seen someone like her, but he can’t remember. He’s too high. Too gone.

When we get back in the car, Drew’s phone buzzes, and he goes pale as he reads whatever text came in. His fingers fly across the screen.

“What?” I say. “Is that her?”

He shakes his head, brings up GPS. “I know where she is.”

Nate glances at the screen. “Good—we’re already going in that direction.”

“What’d she say?”

“It was my cousin, not her,” Drew bites out. “They ran into each other on the T.”

He swipes through his phone and holds it up to his ear, eyes scanning the passing cars. I can hear it ring. The ringing stops, and someone on the other end starts to say something, but Drew cuts him off, his voice full of fury.

“I am going to fucking kill you for taking her there,” he says. His cousin—I’m guessing it’s his cousin—starts to speak again, and Drew growls, “Shut up. How much?”

The guy on the phone says something, a number I guess, and Drew curses. How much? means: How many milligrams? How many pills? How many chances to die?

Nate and Ben and I sit, silent, as Drew loses his mind on his cousin, anger masking the sheer terror I can see in his eyes. This doesn’t feel like a sim. Not even a little bit.

Mom. Mom, please. Fix this, please.

When Drew hangs up, he falls back against the seat and stares out the window, the phone clutched in his hand. His face is so pale.

“Is she … She’s using? He gave her something?” I can’t breathe.