I chew on my lower lip, considering. Then, “It’s not the first time. And I don’t mean you personally, so get that look off your face. It’s just not the first time someone lied or exaggerated something to get closer to us.”

“But why? No offense, but what’s so special about you guys? I mean, what’s even the point?”

Another shrug. I stare off at the horizon without really seeing anything. “People suck. Izzy went missing, and at first it was cool, you know? Everybody came together to help find her. People we knew only on a first name basis, and even people we never really got along with. It didn’t really surprise us; everyone loved Izzy.” I pause. “But then they closed the case...”

I force a hard swallow as memories of those awful days that followed flicker across my mind’s eye. For a moment, it’s almost like I’m back there again. Like the past two years didn’t happen, and I’m nineteen again, doing everything in my power to hold my best friend together while trying not to shatter into a million pieces myself.

They gave up.

“I don’t know how much you know...”

“I know enough.” A beat passes. “I, uh, actually did some of my own digging as well.”

I close my eyes and smile to myself. “Can’t say I blame you.”

“I got the impression Mason can’t really talk about it, and it’s not like I could have gone to you—”

“You don’t have to explain,” I tell him quickly.

Casting him a quick look over my shoulder, I say, “In a way, it makes it easier that it’s, like, public knowledge. It sounds ridiculous when I try to say it out loud—not that I’ve ever really had to, but that’s besides the point.” Shaking my head, I narrow my eyes at a crow swooping far beyond his head. “It’s like some awful Lifetime movie. Doesn’t seem real.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

I suck in a breath. “Mason can’t accept it. That she’s gone. He refuses to believe she’s dead.”

“But you do?”

I refocus on his features. “I don’t know what I believe.”

His jaw hardens, eyes diving into mine with an intensity that should have me running. Instead it grips me like a damn anchor in a storm. He doesn’t look back with pity or dodgy-eyed uncertainty; he looks at me like he actually gets it. And that means something to me.