Jackie sat with Trish by a small campfire, a few others scattered around it in a circle, most of them asleep. The group had drifted away from the route that Kletter had been following, just enough to feel isolated in case someone came searching for them. No one could agree on what to do yet. Continue on, try to find the Villa that their guide had talked up so much? Keep searching for their friends? The only thing settled upon was to keep to themselves, avoid others until they knew more or discovered a clue, any clue.

And so, here they were. A secluded place sunk between four squat buildings and surrounded by trees. A park of some sort.

Trish was inconsolable.

Jackie had been paired up with her during the searches, and felt a connection, seeing the burden of sadness and panic consume the poor girl. Jackie had been through something just like this only a few years ago. Turns out an island cut off from the rest of the scary world can have bad people, too. She tried not to think about the night her life had fallen apart, and instead put all her efforts into comforting Trish.

“We’re going to find them,” she said, probably for the hundredth time.

“Stop. Saying. That.” Trish hadn’t spoken for at least an hour, so this was progress. Words instead of sobs and cries of hysteria.

Jackie reached out but then pulled her hand back. Trish didn’t like being touched right now, either. Not by anyone. She seemed to hate the consoling as much as what she was being consoled about.

“Okay,” Jackie whispered. “I’ll shut up. As long as you shut up, too. We’re all sick of your boo-hooing. Let’s just get some sleep and start over tomorrow.” Maybe tough talk is more up her alley.

Trish didn’t respond. She didn’t say anything. But her cries did grow silent. She lay herself down and curled into a ball, wet eyes focused on the dying flames of the fire.

Jackie did the same but rolled over to face the other direction. She’d tried her best, and would try again in the morning. Nearby, Ms. Cowan—who’d been under control but crying for hours—and the other old folks had huddled together to discuss things, keeping their voices low. Jackie wasn’t having any of that—they were all east-siders and she was sick of them making the decisions.

They looked up at her when she approached, arms folded to keep herself firm.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

Wilhelm, the gruff and grumpy one, and Alvarez, the gaunt and goofy one, both hardened their faces and appeared ready to tell her it was none of her high-falutin’ business, but she was rescued by Old Man Frypan. He was a good soul, and had been kind to her on the voyage even though they’d never met before the trip.