“Let me,” the small, dark-haired girl said. Her voice was deeper than Ash expected, making her seem much older than he’d originally guessed.

The girl slipped past him and knocked softly. “Mira,” she said. “It’s me. Open up.”

There was a beat, and then the door creaked open. A redheaded girl with a face full of freckles peered out. Her eyes flicked anxiously from Ash to Chandra.

“Who are the people, Hope?” Her voice was a thin rasp.

“I don’t know,” Hope said. Then, with an attempt at a grin: “They shot Mac.”

“Did they?” Mira pushed the door open wider. Behind her, Ash could see a small dim room with low ceilings, lit by scattered, flickering candles. A few girls were spread out across a bare mattress, dressed in sweats and oversize flannel shirts, playing cards. Another sat in front of a cracked mirror, trying to curl her hair with her fingers.

Mira considered Ash. “Are you our new pimp, then?”

“What?” Ash felt the backs of his ears flare. “No. God no.”

“You shot Mac.”

“Actually, I shot Mac,” Chandra cut in. “Does that make me your new pimp?”

“Neither of us is going to be your new pimp,” Ash said.

Mira didn’t look convinced. “You shot Mac out of the goodness of your heart, then?” Her eyes traveled down Ash’s body, assessing him. “Nobody does something for nothing.”

“We’re looking for someone. A girl. Small, with long, dark hair.” Ash nodded at Hope. “Like her.”

The corner of Mira’s mouth twitched. “There are no other girls like her, my friend.”

She started to push the door closed.

“Wait.” Ash wedged his foot between the door and the frame, holding it open. He felt his heart beating in his throat. This couldn’t be it. “Please.”

Mira’s eyes softened. “We have all lost someone. I’m sorry.”

Ash exhaled unevenly, half his breath releasing in a ragged spurt. His disappointment felt physical, like something had been carved out of him.

He’d been so sure she would be there.

He remembered the lift of hope he’d felt when he heard the guy at the bar’s story. It had been nearly three weeks since Dorothy had disappeared. That was nineteen nights, each of them filled with hours and hours of darkness. Ash had spent every minute of that darkness staring at the ceiling above his bed, imagining ways he might’ve saved her.

The hope that she might be here had worked as a salve for a while, numbing his pain, giving him something to plan for. It was much easier to storm into a brothel with a gun than it was to face the truth.

And the truth was that Dorothy was gone. She’d been lost in time.

And Ash didn’t know where to begin looking for her.

He slid his foot out the door. “Mac’s bleeding pretty bad upstairs. If any of you are looking to make a run for it, now would be the time.”

None of the girls moved. They looked at each other and then back at Ash.