That didn’t make any sense to me, but I had the distinct feeling that mentioning this to the man—or the nature of his figurines, or anything more—would make him angry. And he was right. I was feeling better with every passing moment. The clean air was helping me, and he wasn’t a terrible host.

Mama saw something dangerous in him. A dangerous disconnect between his truth and the objective truth—reality.

“Il est le bûcheron,” I whisper to Tai in French. He’s the lumberjack.

I think of the cut, blooming almond blossom branches tied to the trees in the Mitella security greenhouse: The old cabin isn’t what it seems. It looks to be made of wood, and flowering branches appear to grow from the structure itself.

The lumberjack, a large man with kindly eyes, lives inside alone.

How could he not know he’s the lumberjack? Or does he?

He shakes his head. “I never found her,” he continues. “I never found her in the woods.” He looks at us. “That’s why I let Mina give you your father’s note, claiming he’d seen her—even though … I don’t know if he knew what he was seeing, at that point in his illness. I thought his note might inspire you to look for her again—to try approaches I would never think of. Because your mother had her purse. She could still be alive.”

“Of course she’s still alive,” I articulate slowly. “She left us a copy of White Fox in her bathroom.”

“You don’t get it. Brando does shit just like that periodically to taunt me. Duplicates documents, makes exquisite deepfakes, floods the internet with false information.” Teddy runs a hand over his face. “You know how long I’ve thought that motherfucker took your mom somewhere? Or finished her off? He’s unpredictable and dangerous.”

My blood freezes, thinking of the notes he left us. Thinking of Yuki saying, He’s a good egg. He would never harm her.

“We need to tell the police the whole story, Teddy,” Tai says, before I can stop her.

Teddy shakes his head and smiles. “See, that’s the kind of innocent naivety I wanted to preserve in you. But neither of us can pretend it still exists.” He takes another step toward us. “Where did you put the glove, T? Just give it back. The rest of her clothing will be disposed of shortly, and we’ll all be safe. And when the police get here—I know you and that nosy bitch Antella Arnoix already called them—I’ll explain to them again how confused you all were and are.”

“But your story could help them find Brando. Help them find Mama,” Tai says, in the whimper of someone younger, much younger, whose hope is fading.