Page 65 of Torin

“My phone is not going to develop internet because you keep asking it.”

“It might encourage it.”

She doesn’t dignify that with a response.

There’s a pause. Then, “I have one bar.”

I look down.

Hannah is staring at her screen. “Two.”

I sit back on my heels. “See?”

She doesn’t answer.

Her phone vibrates.

Then again.

Hannah’s smile disappears.

Texts are appearing faster than she can read them. Missed calls. Emails. Apps waking up after days offline.

I climb down and come around beside her.

“Hannah, there’s something I need to tell you.”

She looks up.

“I saw your father on TV this morning.”

Her face goes still. “What?”

“He’s reported you missing.”

She stares at me. “You knew this when you got here?”

“Yeah. I wanted to get you online before I told you. I didn’t want you sitting up here with no way to see what he was saying or find out what was going on.”

She looks down at the phone in her hand. “Thank you.”

Another notification appears. This one from a local news app.

Hannah sees it.

She taps the screen.

Her photograph fills it—the same one from the diner. She presses play, and a second later her father’s voice comes out of the phone.

I watch her instead.

She doesn’t react when he says she isn’t well. Or when he says she may be confused.

But when he tells people not to believe the things she might say, her jaw tightens.

Then comes the part where he calls her sweetheart.

Hannah gives a quiet snort.