“Sorry, kid,” he said, and he looked like he meant it. “Alls I know is: Some guy was helping him move, and they were talking about flight information and passports, and uh… Sweden. Yeah, they kept talking about Sweden.”

It was too late. We were too late.

No.

No, it wasn’t too late. There was still a chance.

“Okay, thank you, gotta go,” I blurted out.

I grabbed Wynonna’s hand and tore off down the building hallway—dragging Wynonna behind me like a water-skier.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” said Wynonna. “What are you doing? Ow, my arm!”

“Sorry, sorry!” I said, letting go. “I think we can beat him to the airport.”

“Which airport?”

She had a point.

By the time Holden and Imogen caught up to us, I had already started the car. (That’s right, I was driving.) When the last door closed, I peeled out of the parking lot, out of the gate just as it was closing behind another car, en route to US-51.

“What… is… happening?” said Holden, out of breath.

“Everyone, look up Illinois flights to Bern!” I ordered. “I’m on my way to the Southern Illinois Airport. Let me know if I need to redirect. Preferably before I hop on the highway.”

There was a surprising deficit of argument. Everyone silently whipped out their phones, tapped on quiet digital keys, scrolled through pages and options.

“I think I’ve got it!” Imogen exclaimed. “It’s the only flight to Switzerland. Thirty-two-hour trip, layovers in Detroit and London. It arrives in Zurich—not Bern—but I think that’s the closest major airport. Departure is… oh wow, four a.m. Yuck.”

“Which airport?” said Wynonna.

“Uh, let’s see, let’s see…”

Her round face went as pale as a turnip.

“O’Hare International,” she said. “That’s in Chicago.”

“Chicago?” I said. “That’s a four-hour drive!”

I glanced at the time. It was almost eleven.

Imogen scrolled through all her information. Frantically double-checked everything.

“I know, but… that’s it. That’s the only flight I’m seeing.”

Holden glanced up from his phone. “I’m not seeing anything else.”

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Wynonna started sobbing.

“Hey,” said Imogen, softly. “It’s okay.”

“No!” Wynonna shook her head violently. “It’s not okay! What if he changes his phone? Don’t people change phones when they move to a different country? I don’t know his address. He’s not on social media!”

“Relax,” said Holden. “He’s wouldn’t just disappear from your life.” He shot me a glance so I could back him up. “He wouldn’t, right?”