“No,” says Tobias, yet he is wringing his hands together, still so jittery. “She’s gotta be here.”

“What’s got your underwear in a twist?” asks Kai, his face screwed up into a ball.

“Shut it, Kai!” snaps back Tobias.

“Hey, hey, guys, let’s cool it,” I say, standing in between them as they square up to each other.

“You’ve been a jerk since we got here, T. It’s like whenever Nathan is nearby you freak out. You’re terrified of him!”

“I am not! Leave Nathan out of this.”

“Look!” I say, grabbing them both by the hand. “This is a tense situation. But let’s do what we came here to do and then get out of here. You two can sort out whatever this is then.”

There’s a beat as they square off against each other, but then Tobias nods and Kai backs down. I breathe a sigh of relief. But I also exchange a worried look with Kai. So, I’m not the only one to notice a difference in Tobias’s behavior since we’ve been at the cottage.

“Come on, the quicker we move…” Tobias drops my hand, his jaw tight from the confrontation. He steps out of the shadows and strides down the path, not hiding at all any longer. Kai and I jog to catch up with him. We end up jogging all the way to what we hope is Monica’s house, heedless of any alarm that might be raised.

Even close up, it’s breathtakingly beautiful—much more so than the others we’ve seen, which are more typical, neat clapboard style. This is far more rustic: a bungalow made of rich mahogany-colored logs, their ends tipped with crimson paint. There are two huge bay windows in the front, although they’re currently shuttered—strange for this time of day. There’s nothing to indicate it’s occupied. But according to Aero’s data, there’s someone inside.

“Ready?” Tobias asks, as we climb the stairs to the front door. Kai tries to peer through the shutters, but he shrugs. Nothing there. I nod.

Tobias reaches out and jiggles the handle on the door, but it doesn’t budge.

“Locked,” he says, with an exasperated sigh.

“Maybe we can break a window?” suggests Kai.

But I’ve noticed something else. There might be a handle, but there’s no keyhole. I place my hand on the door itself and give it a hard push.

It swings open. It wasn’t locked after all.

And I gasp.

Because there she is. Standing in the hallway of the cottage as if she’s been expecting us.