Iben led Sara under the main door’s pink neon sign, down hallways and stairs, until they stood in a rec room with a nonslip floor and four Ping-Pong tables.

“This is the table tennis room. I play several times a week.” Iben took a paddle from a shelf and handed it to Sara. “Take off your jacket and let’s play a set! Your serve.”

Sara was reminded of how she felt when arguing with Amina: it was no longer her who was calling the shots. This teenage girl, who was already bouncing a table tennis ball into the air, was manipulating the interaction and making her feel insecure in a way no broad-shouldered man could do. Sara set her jacket on a chair and walked over to the table, wondering if this was what happened to kids who grew up with a single parent.

“As long as we talk while we play, okay. I’m here to ask you about something important.”

Iben tossed a ball over the net.

“As long as we play, we talk.” She encouraged Sara to serve with a nod.

Sara felt her palms grow clammy with sweat and gritted her teeth. She raised her paddle and hit the ball at the table so hard that it bounced through the room into a corner.

Iben immediately tossed her another ball, and this time Sara succeeded in keeping it in play.

“They say table tennis is the only ball sport that activates both hemispheres of the brain. It exercises strategic thinking, fine motor skills, and long-term memory all at the same time.” The young woman smashed the ball so it bounced off the very edge of the corner next to Sara. “And you never know until the last second where your opponent will send the ball.”

Iben laughed gloatingly. Sara retrieved the ball from the floor and set it on the table, then eyed Iben seriously.

“There’s a rumor going around your school that something happened at a party last fall. With Oscar’s older brother. Is that true?”

Iben’s facial expression didn’t change.

“Serve the ball!” she instructed, and raised her paddle, eyes locked on her opponent.

Sara bit her lip to stop herself from swearing and served the ball. They volleyed back and forth in silence, then Iben grabbed the ball.

“You’re not so bad, actually,” she said. “You should practice more, though.”

“Iben, is there any truth to the rumors?”

The girl inspected her paddle, looking dissatisfied, then set it down with a little sigh.

“I don’t want to talk about it. What happened at that party stays between Vic and me. It’s nobody else’s business.”

“I wish you were right. But Malthe Sæther has been murdered, and Oscar still hasn’t been found.” Sara looked the teen in the eye. “What happened between you two?”

“It has nothing to do with this,” Iben said, her gaze flickering.