She lowers herself slowly onto the chair beside Sage, like a deep-sea diver navigating the dark, silent ocean bottom, the sights and sounds of the lunchroom only reaching her distantly, as whale song echoes.

Silence falls over us, stiff, uncomfortable, drying up any thought of condolence. We all stare at the tabletop.

Landon speaks flatly, not letting tears get in the way of what she needs to ask us: “Do you think she could have gone back?” I realize she’s trembling, a low-level shudder affecting even her knotted fists pressed against the table edge. “That night?”

I meet eyes with Bree, then look to Trace. He’s the only one facing Landon, his expression serious, but not pitying, or pained, like mine. “Back where, dude?”

“The marsh.” She takes a breath, releases it slowly, trying to keep control. “Maybe she went back”—sharp gesture—“after the fight, after she left home.”

“Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she thought she lost something. Maybe she just wanted to get away from people for a while.”

“It would’ve been really dark,” Trace says.

“Yeah, and she doesn’t know those trails. We’ve never been out there without everybody else. Maybe she got turned around, and”—she shakes her head helplessly—“I don’t know. I don’t know.”

No one speaks. Sage shifts in her seat. “Lan. Maybe you should ask to go home.”

Landon bangs her palm down, then again, harder; all of us flinch. Gets to her feet, in motion again, no longer interested in us. “I’m going.” She walks around the end of the table. “I’m going to find her.”

The cafeteria watches in stunned silence as she goes, shoving through the double doors with a teacher right on her heels, Sage’s quiet “Now?” fading without response.

I catch a ride with Trace after school. Nobody has much to say. The princess mask is nowhere to be seen, maybe hidden in the glove compartment, or under the seat.

First, we pick up the bag of demons at D&M. It is Thirsty Thursday, after all.

But when we reach the park, there’s no skating, no hanging around bullshitting while everybody gets their buzz on. Because you can hear her. Landon. She’s in the woods, not far off. Calling for Ivy.

It’s horrible, like listening to some animal call for her young after a poacher has already done his damage. Kincaid’s here, and I keep my distance. He looks, but doesn’t approach, not with Bree so nearby. This sucks. I know what I need to do, but not how to do it—and that isn’t a good enough excuse for silence anymore. A friend would tell Bree the truth, straight up. Because I know from experience that if I was lost in the woods, Bree would go looking for me.

Once the booze has been sold, Trace says, “I’m going to help her.”