The reporter goes over the timeline of Yin’s abduction, accompanied by computer graphics showing dates and places. When it’s laid out so clinically like that, this ending seems inevitable, but there are no words for how unreal it all feels.

Arnold curls warmly over my feet. Just over two months ago, Mum and I sat in this very same position and watched Yin’s abduction unfold like a bad dream. Sam isn’t here this time. Dad has taken him to soccer practice and he’s having a sleepover at Dad and Jarrod’s house.

‘Several pieces of evidence have been removed from the site today, and the police will continue their search tomorrow. Broken Ranges State Park is popular with hikers and rock climbers. Police are calling for anyone who has witnessed any suspicious activity in the area in the last six months to please contact them via the Operation Panopticon hotline.’

A police detective appears on the screen to talk about something to do with the post mortem and forensics and bringing the killer to justice but suddenly I’m full of too many awful details so I switch the TV off myself.

The exhibition and the art prize seem inconsequential now. The argument I had with Natalia doesn’t matter either, none of it’s important. I swear I’ll never complain about homework and acne and bad marks and not finding the right jeans ever again. I swear I’ll never be anything but patient and nice and loving towards Mum and Sam. And Dad too.

‘Have you heard anything from Natalia today?’ asks Mum. I told her that Natalia and Yin were childhood best friends, told her about what had happened at the photo shoot. Mum said it sounded like Natalia was experiencing the after-effects of trauma.

‘No.’ I almost messaged her this morning, but something stopped me. ‘What do you think I should do?’

‘Send her your love and thoughts,’ Mum says. ‘Let her know you’re thinking about her. And then give her time.’

NATALIA

DAY 63

When I finally let someone into my dark bedroom, it’s Liv.

‘Don’t expect good conversation.’ I immediately go back to my bed and get under the doona.

Liv follows me under there. ‘Not here for the conversation, just the snuggles.’

I pretend to complain and push her off but her skinny arms are tattooed tentacles and I eventually give in and let myself sink against her. I don’t know how she can look so sharp and hard but in reality be so massively soppy.

Once I give in to her, something inside me breaks and I cry again for the millionth time since Mum interrupted my protest to tell me the news early, before anything was officially released, before it hit the news. Which seemed cruel and unnecessarily humiliating at the time, but was probably a good idea.