As the last remnants of the dream slid off me, I wondered whether or not I should break it to Jude that the current object of his affection had almost married someone else. Deciding it wouldn’t make much difference either way, I bit into the Pop-Tart and began thumbing through the files Free had given me. So many people, gone without a trace. I read over their names one by one. When I got to the last one, my gaze darted up to Free’s.

She would have married my brother, Gabriel had said, if things had turned out differently.

“I see you’ve come to the first case our librarian friend documented.” Free turned toward the window. “One Andrés Cortez.”

* * *

One hour, multiple readings of the files, two Pop-Tarts, and three split-second, gut-clawing flashbacks later, this is what I knew: Andrés Cortez had gone missing four years earlier, at the age of nineteen. He’d dropped out of high school the day after his sixteenth birthday to help support his family and had been working as an unofficial guide on the mountain since he was twelve. For eighteen months prior to his disappearance, he’d also held down a day job as a mechanic two towns over.

He’d been reported missing by his fourteen-year-old brother. Gabriel. I felt like I should have known, like I should have been able to scent the tragedy on him.

According to the official records, the investigation had found no evidence of foul play. The working theory seemed to have been that Andrés had kicked the small-town dust off his feet and left his life and responsibilities behind, the way his own father had years before. In the weeks leading up to his disappearance, he’d spent several hundred dollars on wilderness supplies.

People around here go missing all the time. I could hear shades of meaning in Gabriel’s words now that I hadn’t before.

“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Free asked.

With effort, I pulled my attention from the file and looked up at her. “Wonder what?”

Free leaned back against the wall. “Nine people in the last four years, starting with Andrés Cortez. I’m asking myself what a ‘normal’ number of disappearances around here might be.”

Over half a million people are reported missing each year. I didn’t recognize the statistic, not at first. Unlike my time in the forest, this was a memory I had to search for. When I found it, I felt like I was watching it unfold from under water.

“Over half a million people are reported missing each year.” The doctor pauses.

“How does that make you feel?” She leans back in her chair. “Kira?”

“Hungry.”

“It makes you feel hungry?”

I shrug.

“Let’s try something different. Let’s talk about the dog.”

I cock my head to the side. “Silver?”

“The new dog. Saskia.” Another pause—longer, leaner somehow. “Someone hurt her.”