Page 164

“His backpack isn’t here,” Theo says.

It might still be nothing.

Backpacks are easily forgotten somewhere else. This can still be largely nothing. A mountain out of a molehill. Much ado about nothing. Blowing things out of proportion.

Jordan goes downstairs. It’s like somebody has hit pause on a movie while I wait. He’s back after a bit, not meeting my gaze as he hurries past me upstairs, taking the steps three at a time.

Once he’s back, he stops next to me and says nothing, just shakes his head quickly.

I pull my phone out. No missed calls. No texts.

I swipe my thumb over the screen and find Aiden’s name.

I listen to the dial tone and resist the urge to pace.

Considering how drunk he was when I put him to bed a few hours ago, he manages to sound remarkably composed. Sleepy, but composed.

“There better be a fire,” he says. “Locusts will do, too. Really any kind of disaster will?—”

“Is Rory home?” I cut him off.

It takes him a bit of shuffling and cursing. Then footsteps.

“No,” he says after a bit. “He’s not in his room. Or anywhere. What do you mean? He’s supposed to be at Jordan’s.”

“He’s not.” I drag my hand through my hair and look around. “He’s supposed to be. But he’s not.”

It hits me then that something is wrong. It’s not a creeping sense or subtle realization. Just boom! And there.

Something is wrong.

“Maybe he’s on his way?” Aiden says.

“Wait there,” I say before I end the call.

I dial Rory and wait. Nothing.

I try again.

And again.

Eventually, I give up and look at Jordan.

“The cops,” he says quietly.

I nod and lift my phone again.

It rings before I can dial, and for a short, absurd moment it feels like everything is going to be okay when I see Rory’s name on the screen of my phone.

I scramble to answer, nearly dropping the phone twice.

“Hello?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then a small voice.

“Milán?”

I want to laugh from relief. I swear, wherever he is, whatever’s happening, I won’t ground him. I promise. He’s okay. My hands shake from relief.