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“Rosy?” I call, even though I know she won’t answer.

She hasn’t every other time we’ve tried. I go to her bedroom with Bry on my heels…fucking empty. My hands bracket my head in frustration. Adrenaline rushes through my muscles, demanding release. I’m about to do just that when a noise pauses me.

“She’s not here,” Bry’s voice rasps out. His anguish brushes against my skin.

“Shh.” I tilt my head to listen.

There it is again.

Dropping to my knees, I peer under her bed.

A furry face stares back at me, wedged in between some plastic boxes. He meows again.

“What are you—” Noah starts, but I ignore him.

“Fuck.” I don’t shout it like I want to, lowering it to a heavy exhale.

“What?” Bry asks, joining me on the floor. “That’s not good. She’d never leave Moshi here alone all this time.”

“I know.” I sigh, clenching my fists. She was supposed to be here.

“He must be starving,” Bry whispers.

Remembering the box she got the treats from before, I slide it out from under the bed. The tiny cat hisses, shuffling farther backward at the disruption. I pull out the bag and remove a treat.

No part of me wants to be here on my fucking hands and knees holding a treat out to a cat that distrusts me when I need to be looking for Rosy. Wherever she is, when she comes home and sees him, she’s going to be so fucking sad it will break my heart. I can’t let that happen.

Everything else is out of control, but this I can do for her. I can make sure the feisty cat that has her heart is at least okay. Not that I know what to do with him.

After what feels like too fucking long, he creeps forward and savagely takes the piece of meat from my hand and swallows it in one. He immediately sniffs around for another. I pull back too quickly for his liking, and he hisses, swiping a claw at me.

“Are you okay?” Bry asks. “What do we do with him?”

“He’s just hungry. Think of him as a hangry, hairy Max.” I offer another treat, which he rushes to eat. Slowly I feed him a few more, and bit by bit, he surfaces from under the bed, nudging at my hand with his head.

“I think he’s decided you’re friends,” Bry whispers, still keeping back and watching on.

Is that what this is? Trialling the idea, I pat his head and he butts me again, emitting a tiny purring noise.

“Gather up anything that looks like his and we’ll take it with us,” I instruct, and attempt to stroke the little beast’s back. When he doesn’t try to stick another claw in me, I do it again.

“What? You want to take him with us? None of us have had a cat before, or even a dog for that matter. Plus, he’s really tiny. How will we know what to do?” Bry panics, but he looks around picking up things anyway.

“I had a dog once. We’ll figure it out. He needs to be safe for when Rosy comes home.”

“You said when, but if⁠—”

I cut him off. “When is the only option, Bry. She’s coming home. We just need to find her first.”

I locate a carrier, then risk my life by scooping the little beast up and dropping him in. He hisses, but it’s only a small protest.

“Bring the box too.” I point Bry to it. “It has his food and shit in there.”

Noah follows us silently out of Rosy’s room, lines criss-crossing his forehead.

I stop beside the detective in the living area. “Anything?”

He pulls the phone away from his ear and shakes his head.