I spring off the bed and throw open my door. Dad’s heading toward my room, as if he’s read my mind.

But he looks surprised to see me.

“Dad? This…” I hold the phone between us. “This video. The one Daniel made. It shows Chloe and me on the night of the dance.”

“What video Daniel made? What are you talking about?”

“The movie,” I say. “Daniel’s movie.”

“I don’t—never mind. You have to come downstairs.”

“Dad, we have to tell the police. We have to make sure they’re see this. They can enhance it or whatever. Let’s call them.”

“There’s no need, Hunter,” he says.

“What are you talking about? This is evidence. This shows what happened the night of the dance. Of course we have to call them.”

Dad’s shaking his head. “Something’s going on, and they want to talk to you again. They’re on their way right now. And I’ve got a call in to the lawyer.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“I have no idea.”

I can show them the video. If they can figure out who followed us that night, they might be able to figure out who ran us off the road. And whoever ran us off the road must be the person who took Chloe.

Instead, I feel deflated. If the cops are coming over, that means they have more questions. What could they possibly ask me that they haven’t already?

Dad starts back down the stairs, but he hesitates when he sees I’m not following.

“What is it?” he asks.

I slump against the wall, the phone still in my hand. “I don’t know.”

He comes toward me. “What don’t you know?”

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I don’t know if I can handle the cops asking me a bunch of questions that I don’t know the answers to. Just thinking about it makes me feel worn out.”

Dad nods his head. “I understand. You know, you don’t have to answer any questions if you don’t want.”

“And then what?”

“You run the risk that it makes you look guilty.”

“That’s not how it’s supposed to work,” I say. “We just studied this in civics.”