She found Jack and Dan about halfway down the hill, sitting out of the wind with their backs to a charred slab of granite. Lichen sacrificed to Jack’s flame, the stone radiated heat enough to keep the chill away. Charlie’d expected Dan to look relaxed, pleased the silence of the Wood had carried over into the world. The dirt made it difficult, but, if Charlie had to hazard a guess, she’d say Dan looked pissed.

“. . . because it’s not where I live!”

“If you go back to your flop by the river, the police will pick you up.” Jack’s hands were clenched. Charlie figured he’d gone over this a few times already. “If you go to a shelter, the police will pick you up. If you just wander around, the police will pick you up.”

“They have granola bars.”

“Who do?”

“The police.”

Two streams of smoke rose from Jack’s nose. “This isn’t like spending a cold night in the drunk tank. You get picked up now and the cops will hand you over to the FBI.”

Dan’s eyes narrowed. “Smoking will stunt your growth.”

Jack pinched his nostrils closed. “Do you want the FBI to pick you up?”

“Efrem Zimbalist, Jr.?”

“What?”

“Marvin Miller?”

“Dude . . .”

“Why’s the FBI want me?”

As Jack opened his mouth, Charlie cut him off. “You tell us, Dan. Have you done anything in the US terrible enough they’d want to haul your ass across the border?”

“I went to North Dakota once.”

“That doesn’t sound so terrible,” Jack muttered.

“You ever been to North Dakota, golden boy? I don’t go to shelters, though.” Hands over his ears, Dan shook his head. “Too noisy. It’s like a murmur, here. The sea in the distance. Wind in the trees. Background noise.”

“Partly that’s the park,” Charlie allowed. Then repeated it when Dan lifted his hands. “It’s muting the city. I couldn’t make the earworm a complete block, not and leave you functional.”

“The worm in my ear sings to me.”

“Yeah, sort of.” Functional was, after all, variable. She reached for compulsion because David had a point. They needed to know if the FBI was going to be a problem so someone—probably Auntie Bea, she had the most experience—could deal with it. “Dan, you need to tell me if you’ve done anything that would make the FBI want you.”

He thought about it for a moment. “I hear what people think.”

“Does the FBI know that? That you hear what people think?”

“I didn’t tell them.”

“And there’s no other way they might know?”

“The internet told them.”

“Any other way?”

“No. I don’t know why they want me.”

“Truth,” Charlie said for David’s ears. Within the park, it was safest to assume he was always listening.