“No, Daisy, he’s just sad,” Evelyn says through her rage. “Can you go tell your dad to keep stirring that pancake batter and we’ll be right down?”

Daisy scoots away as she’s told, and Marcos throws open the light-blocking shades in my room to let in the California sunshine. The patch of palm trees outside my window performs a magic spell that instantly balances my breathing. After spending half a year at Nightlight, Marcos can’t stand the sight of palms, but they bestow literal life on me.

“It’s my fault,” I whisper, but Marcos and Evelyn shout “NO” in unison.

“You’re an angel to still believe in her,” Evelyn says, reading my Merry Christmas text.

“Drew should be here,” I moan, miles away and getting more lost by the second. “I should’ve…I could’ve helped…”

“Shhhhhhh,” Evelyn says, stroking my hair. A frantic tear escapes her.

Evelyn Schreiber saved my life. Actually, Ario’s sister did. If she hadn’t made me fork over ten dollars to hunt down Drew, my information would’ve never appeared on Evelyn’s mailing list. My memories of those August nights I spent sleeping on a bench by Lake Michigan are midnight-dark and, with each passing day, decline steeply into the realm of obscurity where we tuck away our worst traumas. After Mom threw me out, I’m not sure why I didn’t reach out to Marcos or Ario or Vicky or Agent Elms or my dad or Molly or the other campers. All I had was Ricky’s urn—entrusted to me. I was lost, just Ricky and me, wandering the city. I was embarrassed to let anyone know what happened. I was Triumphant Connor, destroyer of conversion camps. A victor. I had my happy ending, and it was supposed to stay that way. How I could be so lost again? Worse than before? Part of me even wondered…maybe I was a murderer, forcing Drew to give up the secrets that got him killed.

After my third night on the streets, someone anonymously posted a picture of me sleeping under a bench—me, the famous boy from the boat. The one who helped catch the monster. Evelyn tried calling my number from the GoFundMe list, but my mom had disconnected my phone, so Evelyn hopped on a plane from LA to Chicago. On day four, she found me. And she wasn’t alone. Ario, Vicky, and Marcos were there. Each of them had been looking for me for days (Marcos even flew in from Texas), without any luck until they paired up with Evelyn, who had the resources and know-how to contact local shelters and trace my directionless path around the city.