Behind him, a cockroach scurries across the kitchen counter. Ben goes through the drawers and cabinets, his face unreadable. There’s nothing but a few cans of beer in the fridge and a bottle of vodka in the freezer.

“He told us about parties, about fishing trips to the lake, girls—” Mr. Haines chokes on the last word.

“There must be some kind of mistake.” Florence’s voice is pleading. Anger gone. “He wouldn’t live like this.” She hasn’t moved from the bedroom threshold, but she raises her hand to the wall, and I sense more than see her legs give way.

I step to her side and grab her arm.

She glances at her husband, still blinking, staring open-mouthed at the empty fridge.

“He’s had a hard time at work,” she murmurs to me. “More than hard—he lost his job.” She swallows. “The fraternity—it was his proudest accomplishment—the best time of his life. It was supposed to guarantee Colin’s future. His success.”

We both gaze at the stripped mattress.

“It doesn’t look like Colin’s been here in some time,” Ben calls from the kitchen. “We’ll talk to the neighbors. You should go home in case Colin tries to reach you there.”

Florence’s shoulders slump; the weight of her body presses heavily against my own.

“He hasn’t been back in months,” she says.

“But he could return,” Ben reminds her. “He may need food, money, shelter. Your home will be the first place he thinks of.”

Florence shakes her head.

I imagine a boy cut adrift, navigating choppy seas. Where is home in your early twenties? A distant blip on the horizon, the place you left, perceived as a failure to return. Instead, you’ve set sail into infinite possibility, eager to make your own way, only to find yourself lost, clutching at a broken compass, with the realization that there never was any real destination to begin with.

“We should search the Kap-O house.” Mr. Haines grits his teeth. “He might be hiding there.”

Ben sighs sadly.

I stare through the grimy bedroom window. Across the street, a gray squirrel scours the dead grass for something to sustain him through winter. I think of the Kap-O kitchen stocked with food, the halls full of people. Boys passed out in supply closets. Cade stuffing a pillow in a cabinet and sleeping on a couch in the rec room. But Cade was a member. The whole point is exclusivity. It seems unlikely the brothers would let some guy crash at the house for weeks unless he was a good friend. And Ben said none of the brothers knew Colin.

I see the basement with the tattered blankets. The buckets in the corner. The locks hanging from the door but unclasped. Would anyone sleep there willingly? I don’t think so.