Molly had completely disappeared after our argument at Etna. I had assumed she’d taken the transportation that was waiting to take us back to the ship, because I didn’t see anything resembling the type of vehicle a circus troupe might drive. But now that I think about it, they probably don’t actually ride around in little clown cars, so maybe I missed it.
And even if it was there, unless someone was standing outside with a sign, Molly might have missed it, too.
Fuck.
Reality crashes over me like a wave as I notice how busy the hallway is behind Demi—tourists returning from excursions, bags slung over their shoulders and cheeks rosy from the heat. “Wait—what time is it?”
“It’s almost five. We’re supposed to start filming dinner in twenty minutes.”
Double fuck.
I had only planned to lie down for a few minutes when I got back to my room after the excursion. And now suddenly it’s two hours later and I’m suspect number one in a missing persons case?
I quickly cross the room to my bed, leaving the door to close behind me. Only, Demi manages to sneak through and watches me as I rip the sheets off the bed. I find my phone buried deep under the comforter and try to wake it, but it’s dead.
“Fuckity fuck!”
Demi looks at me with a raised brow and I ignore her, fumbling to plug in my phone. There’s another knock on the door behind Demi and she turns to pull it open, revealing a version of Glen I’ve never seen before. His hair is disheveled, as if he’s spent the past two hours running his hand through it repeatedly, and I notice he’s wearing an untucked T-shirt and sneakers—a first, for a man who is usually impeccably dressed in the same style every day: a trendy button-down, chinos, and a rotating assortment of sleek but subdued loafers.
“Anything?” he asks Demi sharply, ignoring me completely.
“No, she hasn’t seen her.”
Glen looks at me over Demi’s shoulder, and my stomach drops. It feels like cresting a roller coaster and barreling down the other side—a full-body response of pure terror mixed with adrenaline.
“What the hell happened, Chloe?” he demands, his usual silky tone now laced with acid. I’ve never been on the receiving end of Glen’s anger before, but the sensation is familiar—and suddenly I’m back in Iceland, being scolded for missing the call time.
Only this is worse.
Way,wayworse.
“She ghosted me at Etna, when we got off the cable car,” I explain, leaving out the part about me basically telling her that her parents were right for not loving her.
I wince at the thought, even now.
“I told you, Glen, I shouldn’t have stayed back.” Demi throws her hands in the air, then begins to rub at her temples. “I knew she would fuck this up.”
“Well, obviously Molly wasn’t going to?—”
“Not Molly, you!” she snaps.
I narrow my eyes at Demi, and she returns my glare.
“Don’t look at me like that, Chloe.Youwere in charge of her. Greta gave you the instructions to get her back to the ship and you agreed, did you not?”
“Yes, but?—”
“But nothing! This is the job. I don’t care if she tried to hang glide off the side of the fucking volcano, you follow her. You weren’t just supposed to babysit her and deliver her in one piece; you were supposed to film it. Now we don’t even have any footage of her getting from Etna back to the ship, which is honestlynotgreat. Did you even check if she was back when you got here?”
Demi’s right. I had been so stunned after what happened with Molly that when I got back to my room, I just crashed. I had intended to regroup and then search for her, but…I didn’t.
And that’s on me.
In any other job I could claim that this was a conflict of interest, that I shouldn’t have been put in charge of Molly, that I was set up to fail.
And maybe I was. Maybe all of that is true.
But it’s also true that I had a job to do, and I didn’t do it.
