“Nervous,” he replied immediately, then thought about it for a few seconds and gave her a more considered response. “Unsettled. That’s a better way of putting it. I’m afraid of being closer to the truth, but more afraid of being no closer at all.”

“That’s understandable,” Kitty said. “You’re dealing with a lot. Not just recent information, but years of emptiness . . . of hurt.”

“I wish I could jump into next week,” Luke said. “Or even the week after. Fast-forward through these feelings, then see where I am and deal with it.”

“However this works out—whether you get answers or closure—it’s a step forward.” Kitty nodded encouragingly. “And that’s better than standing still.”

“You’re right,” Luke agreed. He picked up a small stone and tossed it from the rise. It bounced twice off the boulders and hit the desert floor in a little Wile-E.-Coyote-like puff of dust. “How about you? How are you feeling?”

“Oh . . . terrible,” Kitty replied. “Terrified, mostly.”

“Yeah, well, that’s understandable, too.”

“Johan once told me that he can hear Vikings in his blood. I never knew what he meant, but now I do.” Kitty lifted her hair and touched the dressing on her forehead. The gauze was grimy, the tape peeling away on one side. “He’s there when I close my eyes. He’s there when I open them.”

“It’s trauma,” Luke said. “Your mind is bruised.”

“Yeah. And like you, I’m unsettled.” Kitty fetched a trembling sigh. “I’m afraid of what I’ve seen, and more afraid of it not being over.”

“It is over, Kitty. Johan thinks you’re dead. And when we get out of here, I’ll book you a hotel up in . . . I don’t know, Montana, maybe. Somewhere you can lay low for a month or so. Then I’ll start feeding the sharks—the mudslingers.”

“Phase two,” Kitty said.

“Right,” Luke said firmly. “A few juicy leaks here and there, a few celebrity names dropped . . . it won’t be long before Johan Fly’s world is turned upside down.”

“I hope you’re right,” Kitty said. “But he feels so close. So loud.”

A drove of birds passed overhead, with quick wings and narrow bodies. Down on the ranch, the dogs had finally fallen silent. Luke could see them from where he sat, walking tight circles in their cages. He imagined approaching them with his water bottle, upending it through the tops of their cages, and watching delightedly as they snatched the cool, clear flow out of the air.

The thought dried his mouth. He took an empathetic drink.

“You have a happy place, right?” he said, turning to Kitty. “I mean, everybody has a happy place.”

“I’m a born daydreamer, Luke,” Kitty said. “I have a thousand happy places.”

“I hear you, but there has to be one that buzzes you more than the rest. Either a sweet memory or a fantasy.”