Boots on, I shrug into my spare coat and tug on a beanie and mittens before heading to the window. I turn up the music, hoping it’ll cover any telltale sounds of my escape. I pause, regarding the oak tree outside my window where my crows are perched, looking sleepy and unconcerned among the last of the autumn leaves. Those branches better be strong enough to hold me.

With trembling fingers, I pry open the window, step onto the sill, and grab the nearest branch.

17

I run to Pilvitalo, pausing to catch my breath and smooth down my hair before tapping in the access code and stepping into the foyer.

It’s so quiet. On the weekends, the boarders who don’t go home are usually out and about doing various activities involving social interaction. I’ve never participated for obvious reasons.

Muted voices drift from the common room at the east end of the ground floor, accompanied by short-lived screams and the percussive blasts of apocalyptic explosions happening on the TV. I race up the stairs to the second floor.

I search the names on the doors, systematically working my way up and down the corridor. Morgan’s name is done graffiti-style with colored chalk on a blackboard fixed above the number on his door. The a in his name is the same spiky anarchy symbol he has patched on his jacket.

I knock.

No answer.

I knock again, harder this time.

Still no answer.

Maybe he’s sleeping or out on his skateboard somewhere or downstairs in the cafeteria, but what if…what if—the thought drills holes through my mind.

What if he’s been taken like Natalie? the helpful little voice pipes up.

No. I refuse to believe it. Instead, I march up the stairs to the floor occupied by House Tero, hurrying from door to door, searching for Aoife’s name. When I find it, I bang hard with my fist.

A bleary-eyed Aoife answers. “Taika. Did you get our messages?”

“No, I’ve been grounded. My dad took my phone.” I look past Aoife to where Morgan lies on the bed clutching a pillow to his chest. Waves of relief crash over me seeing him alive and right here. He turns to face me, eyes red-rimmed, devoid of their usual makeup.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“It’s Hannah.” He sits up, still clutching the pillow. “No one’s seen her since last night. We can’t find her anywhere.”

His words land like concrete blocks inside my chest, crushing the air from my lungs.

“When did you realize she was missing?” I sit beside him, resisting the urge to gnaw on my fingernails.

“We went over to Kivitalo for breakfast, like we do every weekend,” he says. “Hannah wasn’t there.”

“Her friends were really confused when they realized she wasn’t with them,” Aoife continues. “We searched the whole building. Not a trace of her.”