Murphy dreamed he was falling down the side of a cliff.

The ground rushed towards him, rocks and jagged edges. Wind ripped through his clothes, pressing against his face, eucalypt and fresh, loud in his ears.

I can’t die! I have to find Jasmine!

And then he hit the ground. And woke. He found himself on the couch at home, beer cans scattered around him, and wind blowing through the open window.

It was late morning. The girls had been missing for twenty-four hours.

Half an hour later, Murphy sat at his dining-room table, a breakfast can of beer in his hand, eyes on the open window and the heavy rain beyond. Sweet weed smoke from Butch’s joint hung in the air.

Murphy’s chest ached. He wanted nothing more than to go join the search in the mountains, which had resumed at daybreak. But Dave had texted him to say the SES had sought a restraining order against Murphy’s participation.

I shouldn’t have broken that bloke’s finger . . .

Butch hadn’t stopped speaking since Murphy woke up: complaining about the SES, the school, the teachers, the police, the media, the search, how cold the night had been, how they weren’t doing enough, the search-and-rescue horses that had been spooked by the thunder and bucked their riders, the bloody helicopters that should just brave the bloody rain and get up into the bloody sky and start bloody helping, or else get their bloody drones to get some useful bloody pictures, where was the infrared, what the hell were they even doing?

Murphy put the beer can to his forehead and closed his eyes, trying to block Butch out. The live coverage was playing on the TV. He should be up there. Fuck the restraining order – he’d risk the jail time.

But Dave had also said that if he was a suspect, to be seen up there would cast even more suspicion on him. The restraining order made things so much more complicated. And if he ended up in custody, what help would he be to Jasmine?

Yeah, and what help am I right now?

He decided he’d give it until noon, then he was going to join the search, whether they wanted him there or not. They’d have to chain him to the ground to keep him from scouring that mountain range, all alone if he had to.

But he’d try to be sensible first. Try to be rational. That’s what Sara would do. Heaven knew it would’ve been better if she were here right now and Murphy was the one dead.

It wasn’t fair.

He tried not to think about the dense bush, how you could walk right past a body up there and not have a clue. That you could get lost without even leaving the path, walking in circles on tracks that all looked the same, until you stumbled off a cliff.