“Viktoria Curtis,” the man was saying, “do you have a message for your missing sister?”

I handed Franklin to Elsa, stepped between the reporter and my daughter, guided her away.

“They shouldn’t be trying to speak to you, Vee.”

The reporter moved to intercept us.

“Do the right thing, pal,” Dan said to the reporter as gently as he could. “Step away.”

I began drawing Vee to the side.

“But Dad.” She turned back toward the reporter. “She needs to know we’re looking for her.”

“This is not the time, Vee.”

“Your dad’s right, Vee,” said Dan. He stepped in front of the reporter. “Page one of the ethics book, pal. No mics in kids’ faces.”

The reporter was not giving up. “When you feel the time is right to give your side of the story, Viktoria—”

“She doesn’t,” Dan said.

“She won’t,” I said.

I could feel Vee trying to pull away. “Who said you could speak for me, Dad?”

I took her hand. “Excuse us,” I said. “Please. Vee, we need to go.” I bundled her past the reporter and out onto the steps of the cathedral. From both sides of the path people watched us.

When we reached the gate on to the street, Vee stopped. “I want to wait for the others.”

There were camera teams everywhere. “They’ll catch up with us,” I said.

Back on the cathedral steps I could see Bror, speaking to Arno and his mother. Arno’s mother said something to Bror, and he turned toward us. His eyes seemed to meet mine, even at this distance. A hint of a smile, the merest of nods. Then he turned back toward Arno and his mother.

“Dad,” said Vee.

Almost as if Bror knew us. Had he seen us together with Elsa?

“Dad,” said Vee again. She motioned toward a camera team farther up the street. They were lining up on us.

I took her hand and we turned and began to walk away down the street.

“Can you promise me something?” she said.

“What, Vee?”

“Just promise me you don’t all think she’s dead, and I just don’t know yet.”

“Oh, love. No. We don’t. Of course she’s not dead. She’s a hero, Vee, and we’re going to find her. But Dan’s right about keeping to the family line.”

She laughed. “What’s Dan scared we’re going to say?”

“It’s more subtle than that.” I stopped, turned to her. “Love, if you felt lied to or patronized, I’m sorry.”

She swallowed hard. “Patronized, maybe.”

“That was never our intention. Listen, your Uncle Dan thinks we need to manage our relations with the press. So the story they are reporting is ours, and not someone else’s.”

“Oh.” Her manic energy seemed to drop away. She stood thinking for a moment. “Yeah, that actually makes sense.”