She. No dad. I try to keep my voice level. “Is that what you meant, when you talked about being scared so much? You meant sleeping out there, alone. With nothing. How long have you been doing this?”

He rubs the side of his head distractedly, one of his braids surfacing, the end coiling on his shoulder, fastened with a plain rubber elastic. “Since summer. It wasn’t bad, at first. Anyway. I’ve got what I need.” He touches his coat, where the inner pocket lies, heavy with whatever’s left of the bottle. “I sleep okay.”

“Kincaid. That’s how people freeze to death. Can’t you stay with Trace, Moon, somebody?”

He shrugs, looking out the window. “Sometimes I do. But it’s not like their families need another problem.”

I exhale heavily, trying to control my frustration, not show how much it hurts, thinking of him alone in that makeshift shelter, just trying to get through till morning. “The night Ivy went back out there. Did you see her?”

He leans on his elbows, rubbing his eyes with both hands. “See all kinds of things. Hear things. Half the time I never really know. . . .” I can fill in the rest: he doesn’t know what’s real, and what’s some bad dream brought on by too much fire demon to drive out the chill.

“If you saw Ivy, we have to tell the cops.”

“No. I mean . . . I don’t know. Maybe there was something.” Shuts his eyes, gives his head a slight shake, loosening a memory. “Like a light. But it was there, and then . . .” Breathes out, opens his eyes. “Maybe it wasn’t even that night. It all kind of blends, you know?”

I reach across the table and take his hand, squeezing his fingers, which somehow still feel cold to me. “Why did your mom kick you out?”

He pulls his hand back. Bounces in place a little, ready to move. Because as long as you keep moving, nobody can pin you down, right? “Want to go? I can pay for us.”

I sit back, folding my arms, forcing myself not to keep pushing as he digs money out of his wallet, tossing it down where Daisy can see it the next time she wanders through. I add two extra dollars to the tip, as if that will somehow raise us in her estimation.

When we get back into the car, I begin, “The money,” focusing on fastening my seat belt, remembering how he went into the house, coming out a minute later, before his mom could follow. Enough time to get into a purse.

He stretches his legs out in the space under the dash. “I go home sometimes, take what I need.”

“Think she wants you to have it?” I shift into drive, glancing over when he doesn’t answer right away.