We each remove a file, then thumb through the papers within. My thoughts zigzag despite my calm expression. What else do I think I know about Angela, but don’t? What other strange photos of ex-boyfriends am I going to find with her current beau beside me?

Focus. Everything in this space is contradictory. Be logical. Find the through line just like you would with a patient profile in school.

Seb pores over an undergrad multiple-choice test from the Sorbonne—Angela got an A in English—go, girl. Slanted sunlight highlights his square features and a patch of chest hair peeking from the white V-neck shirt he wears.

If Seb is good enough for my flighty sister to date for a year, I need to learn more about him. I need his insider knowledge of my sister’s recent activities, likes, dislikes, how she spent her days. I’ve got to go deep to decipher any coded clues that might be hiding here and get some context. Starting with this weeping willow of a boyfriend.

“Seb?”

“Oui? I mean, yes?”

“Where did you learn to speak English?” I fan through a folder of papers. A moment passes in silence, and I wonder what Seb is seeing in my face, shadowed beneath the window. How many times has he sat in this exact spot with my sister? What will he do without her?

“At school, mostly. I was a biological sciences major, and many academic journals are in English.” He breaks into a smile, baring pearly whites. “Languages come easy to me.”

I nod, absorbing his cheeky raise of one eyebrow. “I was a science major, too. Human biology, premed.”

“Bio-sci and history double major. Although history did not serve me very well, studying neurology.”

“Wow. So you finished medical school already? How old are you? You look too young to be a doctor.”

Seb leans back on his palms. “I have thirty. I have been done with my residency program for a year but have been working in the medical field much longer.”

“Interesting.” I have thirty. Thirty years old? I resume searching for clues (cryptexes, ciphers, coded letters, cave drawings, etc.) and try to catalog this information. Seb appears devoted to Angela, willing to do whatever it takes to learn what happened to her. It’s impressive. Angela’s type was traditionally the homecoming king, an ideal partner to her queen. Now it seems she prefers the arrogant nerds that always appealed to me.

Typical—they invariably preferred her. When we were fifteen, I asked my honors biology classmate, Ashton Wheelan, out to a movie, having read in a magazine that confidence was attractive to boys. He said yes—until he realized I wasn’t Angela. He said he wanted someone more on his level. Considering I had just beaten him for the highest grade on our final exam, I knew what he meant: Nonsciencey. Miss Congeniality. The fun twin.