Somewhere inside him he realized they had respected his wishes to be left alone. Like actual friends. And he couldn’t shake the earnest heartbreak in Ursula’s eyes when he’d turned his back on her. She really did care.

Let them go, Kane told himself. Let them all go.

The whistle sat like a rock in his pocket. Even through his jeans, the metal was cool and alive, reminding him that none of this was over. Not for him. Poesy had been right. He couldn’t outrun this, which meant he had no choice but to fight.

Sophia was Kane’s first battle. As soon as she got home that evening she burst into the den, turned off Kane’s PlayStation, and dragged him outside before their mom could sit them down for dinner.

“You’re so lucky,” she seethed, pacing circles around Kane in the school playground near their house. Dusk burned around them, alive with the buzz of bugs. “You’re so goddamn lucky you’ve got me as your sister.”

“Look, I’m sorry, but I already told you I was just doing homework last night.”

“Where?”

Kane was ready for this. “Ursula’s house. Duh.”

Sophia scrunched up her face. “Who?”

Shit. Kane realized that even though Ursula was his longest friendship, Sophia had no idea who she was thanks to Adeline.

“Someone from school. She’s my tutor. But who cares? You’ve got to stop imagining I’m running away whenever you can’t see me.” Kane hooked his hands through the monkey bars, changing the subject. “I can’t stay in that house. None of it feels familiar. My room feels like a memorial.”

“You need to tell Mom and Dad. If your amnesia is so bad you can’t even remember who you are, maybe you should get tested for brain damage.”

“I know who I am,” he shot back. “And I am being evaluated, remember?”

“By that psychoanalyst? The one who’s making you keep a dream journal? That’s right. I see you writing in it.”

“It’s not a dream journal,” Kane said, offended. “It’s just a journal. It’s what the police want. It’s what our parents want. I’m just doing what I’m told so I can stay out of jail. You know that.”

Kane fled to the swings, and Sophia slumped after, a mirror to his own misery as he kicked off. He hoped the momentum would wrench the conversation apart, but Sophia’s voice came in bursts over the squeals from the rusted metal frame.

“Sneaking out. Is not doing. What you’re told.”

“Maybe not. According to you. Little Miss Anal. Retentive.”

Sophia hoped off and faced Kane with her hands on her hips. His momentum fizzled out beneath her glare.

“Really, Kane? Little Miss Anal?”

“Anal-retentive. It means ‘orderly.’”

“I know what anal-retentive means.”