Zadie hoped he was right, but her instincts were telling her otherwise. If an echo was responsible for her disappearance, then the thing they were looking for wasn’t really Finn. It was a memory.

TWENTY-TWO NOT THE SAME ZADIE

Finn was running. Nora was running.

She had no car. No bike. Just legs. She ran like her ancestors did before the invention of the wheel.

Amy was calling for her. She thought Nora was running away, but she wasn’t. She was running toward.

Nora would have stopped and said goodbye, but stopping was impossible. All she needed was a running start—like the early flying machines—then her wings would do the rest. Any moment now, they would unfurl.

Any moment now.

Amy’s voice was getting smaller and the water was getting louder.

Any moment now.

Rocks stamped themselves into the flesh of her bare feet. There must have been blood.

Any moment …

If she couldn’t fly, she would have to swim. Some birds could do both.

Cool water, ankle-deep. Then knees. Waist.

Puffins could dive to depths of two hundred feet. Nora just had to make it to the other side of the creek.

The other side of the creek. Then the ocean. She had to make it to the ocean before …

Nora’s thoughts were dropped stitches. Her feet, bloody. Amy’s voice had been swallowed up by the forest and now she was alone.

Zadie, Joel, and Myron hiked back up the hill to Amy’s tree and followed Finn’s prints into the woods. A few minutes of walking led them to what would, on a normal day, be a spectacular view of the valley—vast evergreen forests shrouded in drizzle and fog—but under the current circumstances, it was more daunting than it was beautiful. Without any more footprints to follow, Zadie froze. “So, where do we go now?”

Myron wiped raindrops off his GPS. “Well, usually, when people get lost in the wilderness, they take the path of least resistance.”

“You don’t know Finn.”

“I mean that they let the terrain lead them. Rivers, ridges, anything flat that gives the appearance of a way forward. If I had to guess, I’d say she most likely went that way.” Myron pointed to what appeared to be a path that had been combed over with wild grasses. “It’s not a man-made trail. Probably deer.”

Zadie imagined her sister charging down the foot-wide path, kicking up rocks that skittered down the hillside, miniature previews of what could happen to her if she lost her footing. Supposing she did. Would self-preservation kick in, or would her body fall while her mind was somewhere—someone—else? She pushed the thought away. It’s going to be fine, she told herself. Finn was lost, not dead. They were going to find her, and then they were going to find their mom. That was the plan.