Atlas assures me he’ll have my bike retrieved from the park so I don’t have to worry about it, but my bicycle is the last thing on my mind as I hurry through my backyard to the house.

A baseball game is playing on the living room television. Dad is sleeping on the couch. I lean forward to shake him awake when I spot the empty glass on the coffee table next to him. One sniff of the dregs inside the cup tells me what I need to know—there’s no point in trying to talk to my father tonight or asking him to help look for Isaac. Even if I could wake him up, he shouldn’t be driving.

I want to scream that I need him. That Mom needed both of us and we failed her and now I may have failed Isaac. Instead, I leave a note on the message tablet about sleeping over at Rose’s house and head upstairs to get my things.

I wash off the dirt and sweat and bandage the scrapes I got facing the Marshals. Then I pull the bag of books out from under the bed and cram a change of clothes, my tablet, and stuff to stay overnight inside. With one last look at my father’s flushed face, I shrug the heavy bag onto my shoulder and go out the back door.

Every snap of a twig makes me jump. The shadows on the sidewalk have me looking over my shoulder to make sure no one is following as I hurry down the familiar streets. Once, I swear someone is there, but when I pause I see and hear no one. So I keep walking.

I pass the sidewalk where Rose and I learned to ride our bikes while Isaac teased us by zooming circles around us on his own. I can see Isaac grinning from deep in the branches of the oak tree after scaring us when we walked by. Panic builds with each step even as I think about the security ID and the archives room I accessed with that card. As I walk, I pray that Isaac will be at his house when I get there.

Please don’t let this be because of me.

Please don’t let this be because of me.

This can’t be because of me.

When Rose opens the door, the hope that this will all be over is shattered. The pain in her eyes punches into my chest and steals my breath. I do the only thing I can. I throw my arms around her and hold tight.

Her tears shatter me. Each shudder. Each strangled attempt to rein in the fear. I want to cry with her, but I can’t. The weight of the ID I stole from Isaac is heavy in my pocket and my heart.

“Sorry,” Rose says, pulling away. She closes the condo door, swipes the tears from her face, and takes several deep breaths. When she turns to face me again, she has regained a large measure of her trademark steely control. “I promised myself I wouldn’t lose it. We don’t actually know anything. Isaac could be at a friend’s house. He could have just dropped his phone and didn’t notice. It’s just . . .”