“You’re gonna have a whole lot of nothing if you don’t start taking Nightlight seriously.” Molly taps the anthill of gauze taped across her cheek. “This was just me getting a little mouthy. You’re talking about collecting evidence to send someone to jail, maybe all of them if they knew who they were hiding. They’re gonna make you disappear, Mr. Cute. Mr. Flirty, Cute, Jokey-Joke, Flute Around the Neck.”

The jungle becomes arctic cold as Molly’s wham-bang truth trickles down my skin like egg yolk, chilly and unpleasant. “You’re right.”

“It’s my life you’re messing with too.”

“I wasn’t flirting.” The only response I could think of was also the weakest. Of course I was flirting with Marcos. He’s hunky and it took my mind off how overwhelmed I am with the job ahead of me—and about how crummy and alone I’ve felt for weeks. Regardless, Molly is right: my head needs to wrap around the seriousness of this situation before I run off trying to be Connor Major, Island Detective.

Ricky is dead and nothing I do will bring him back. Finding his missing file is only doable if I can do so safely—for me, for Molly, for Marcos, for anybody.

“So, who was that girl in your lock screen picture yesterday?” I ask. The one she had her arms wrapped around on her phone’s lock screen. One of Nightlight’s people changed my lock screen picture to Ario to embarrass me, but maybe Molly was prouder than I was and put hers there herself. Maybe every day before yesterday, she got to unlock her phone and show the whole world whom she was with. I asked because I’m tired of being the only one on the defensive. I risked my ass trying to make sure Molly was all right, and suddenly, I’m getting attacked for some harmless flirting.

Molly crunches through leaves in silence before admitting, “Girlfriend.”

“I figured that much,” I say. “What’s her name?”

“I don’t want to talk about her.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t feel like crying right now.” Molly stops cold on top of a fallen palm branch, which snaps underneath her as she spins to me. Fire dances behind the water in her eyes. “I’m leaving ASAP, I’m grabbing her, and…we’re never going back to Tucson. My brain can’t comprehend spending the rest of the day on this island, much less a week, three months, or however long my dad plans on draining my trust fund to keep me away from her. I’m also in a bit of a hurry because, apparently, there’s a gay-bashing maniac on the loose.”