“I have no idea,” Calliope said, her heart racing. She couldn’t dare think it was Andres and Phoenix, still exhausted from the disappointment turning to grief each time she hoped, as if she were losing them every time it wasn’t them.

Calliope hadn’t even moved toward the door, and Mara was already poised in the entryway with her rifle aimed. “Wait, Mara. You almost shot us and Buick. Please don’t shoot whoever this is.”

“Unless it’s the son-uh-bitch killed Loren.”

Chance and Buick right behind her, Mara walked to the door, peered through the peephole. She called, in the same hoarse voice she’d used with Calliope when they’d first arrived, “Who’s there?”

Half expecting Eunjoo’s demon Suuke or Coyote to come strutting through the door dragging their shattered limbs behind, Calliope breathed out when she heard the young woman’s voice.

“It’s Amy. Denver?”

As if they’d forgotten her.

Calliope smiled wide, let go of Eunjoo and rushed over, stepping in front of Mara and her gun, forgetting for a moment how angry she was, thinking only how good it was to hear that voice, the first voice of reason after the light on the bridge, and she unlatched and flung open the front door, to face the mentirosa who had flown away in their only vehicle by her damn self.

“Amy.” Calliope embraced the white girl. She wore the same army boots, skinny jeans, white tank top, and leather jacket she’d worn before and smelled of rotten garbage, a sack of moldy onions. She was shivering, her thin body a freezer pop. But it felt good to hug her. “What the hell happened? After you left us? Why’d you leave us?” Calliope clutched Amy’s shoulders, pulled away so they were face-to-face. Amy’s was scratched and bruised, her lip cut and bleeding and swollen. “Oh my God, what happened? Come in, hurry.”

Amy’s eyes were red, brimming with tears. Calliope scooted her through the doorway, shut the door, and Amy turned around, wiping her eyes, a bittersweet smile quivering across her face. “You found your family,” she said. “Calliope, I’m so happy for you.”

Calliope’s eyes darted from Amy’s to the group gathered in the living room, confused a brief moment. Then she realized. “Oh, Amy. You didn’t find yours?”

Amy’s tears were streaming down her face now, plopping onto her tank top.

Calliope took her hand and squeezed it, hugged her again. “No, amiga. These are Mara and Buick. They’re friends. I haven’t found my family yet either.”

Amy’s tough bravado had vanished. Whatever had happened had changed her. She said, “I’m sorry I left you.”

“I know.”

Calliope introduced her properly, explaining how Amy had saved them, flown them away from the Suuke. She left out the part about the mentirosa stealing the plane and leaving them stranded.