Something crashes overhead. Jaxon runs up the stairs, two at a time, while I wait by the door. I hear talking but can’t make out the words.

‘I told you to go, stupid,’ someone screams. It must be Jaxon’s father, Doug. ‘Take the damn car and get out of here. Now. Are you deaf?’

Jaxon walks downstairs, car keys in one hand and a wad of cash in the other.

Out the front door, I see my grandmother walking towards the house, rubbing her arms to keep warm.

We meet her on the front path. ‘Sorry, Mrs—I mean Miriam, my dad’s home. I need to go.’ Jaxon’s voice sounds dead.

‘Is everything okay?’ she asks.

‘Totally.’

‘Sky?’ She turns to me.

But I don’t answer, instead following Jaxon to the truck. He ignores me, expression blank, hard, no twinkle in his eyes, and no smile. Without a word, he starts the engine, slams the door, reverses out and drives off, skidding slightly on the turn.

I’m feeling sick with worry as Miriam and I get back in the taxi. Where’s Jaxon going? What did his father tell him? Will he be okay?

Miriam digs for information, but I don’t feel right about telling her. Instead, I reassure her it’s just one of his father’s bad moods.

‘I’ve heard about his father,’ she says. ‘Are you sure I can’t help?’

I shake my head.

I try calling my father, but the line doesn’t even ring, going straight to voicemail. If only he were here to make sure Jaxon’s all right.

I have a hard time concentrating at the museum. My grandmother knows a lot about art history and she’s great at explaining everything. The oil paintings of Alaska are beautiful, and there is a room of photographs with foxes, jackals, African wild dogs, and even dingoes in Australia. There’s one that looks like the wolf we saw. If Adam had his camera from Chicago, he could have taken it.

I check my phone constantly to see if Jaxon’s replied to my messages, and I call him again and again. I even ignore a video message from Oliver, I’m that stressed out. In between trying Jaxon, I call my father repeatedly, hoping he might wander onto a hill that has reception. I wonder if he has the satellite phone—but I’d need to get hold of Jaxon to find out the number.

Back in the taxi, I ask my grandmother, ‘Do you mind if we stop so I can make sure Jaxon’s okay?’

‘I’ll come in with you, dear.’

‘No, that’s okay.’

‘I insist.’

It’s dark by the time we arrive back at Jaxon’s. As I knock on the door, I’m nervous at the thought of meeting his drunk angry father, or my grandmother seeing him, but no one answers.