“No,” Nora says. She lifts her chin, narrowing her eyes at Browning. “The detective was just leaving.”
The detective opens his mouth, then closes it, reevaluating the fight. I don’t blame him. Instead of pushing, he lets out a heavy sigh. He goes to speak again, but the bell above the door dings.
Oliver Holden, a box of books clutched to his chest, shuffles into the shop.
“Donations!” he announces. “Dug through our attic for these, but—”
His sentence dies in the air when he notices Browning. Time stands still, and the air thins around us. Like the four of us are on a high wire, hundreds of feet up, all afraid to fall.
Then the moment ends, and Holden forces a smile. He nods at the detective. “Larry,” he says.
“Ollie,” Browning says. I don’t miss the muscle that ticks in Holden’s jaw.
Paige’s words outside come back to me. A splintered friend group. Now all four are back within the same county lines.
“You can put those in the back room with the rest of the book drive boxes,” Nora says. Her attention lingers on the detective, only departing long enough to direct Holden toward the office behind the counter.
Holden and Browning hold each other’s gaze another moment. Then Holden heads for the office, not sparing the detective another glance.
Browning clears his throat. “Have a good rest of your day, Miss Shipman,” he says. He doesn’t say another word to Holden, though it could be because Holden is already halfway to the office.
Browning makes for the door, stopping as he pulls it open, looking back at Nora. “I’m sorry, Nora,” he says.
“Sorry isn’t enough,” she says, not meeting his eyes.
“I know, kid. I know.” And then he’s gone, the car outside rumbling to life.
When it starts to pull away, Nora looks at me. “Hey,” she says, voice wobbling. She swallows. Her eyes fill with tears, and she blinks rapidly.
I know what it looks like in the moment before you break. It goes against the rules I’ve laid out, but rather than walking away, I cross the carpet and pull her into a hug.
Nora holds only a second more before she gives in, wrapping her arms around me, silent sobs racking her chest.
When the familiar tightness forms in my chest, I think it’s my old grief making an appearance. But it isn’t. It’s pain for Nora’s loss, for Finn’s loss.
After a minute, Nora pulls away, wiping her face and clearing her throat. “God, I’m sorry,” she says, laughing dryly. “Good morning, I guess.”
I frown. “What happened?”
She huffs, rounding the counter to drop onto the stool. I follow, leaning against the countertop. “They’re closing Finn’s case.”
“What?” I ask, like it will change the words to hear them a second time.
“They’re labeling him a runaway and closing the case.”
“So the task force—”
“Isn’t looking for him anymore.”
“Fuck.”
I think of Finn, beside me at the keyboard or perched on the couch watching TV shows he didn’t choose. Finn, who is anything but the lost cause this town has labeled him as.
“Yeah,” Nora says. “He even tried to pull the whole ‘troubled kids’ card.”
“A dozen of them?”
“Even if they were—which shouldn’t matter, because they’re missing—they should have found at least one. But there’s nothing. They all…vanished. He vanished.” Nora shakes her head, face twisting. “He didn’t pack a bag, didn’t even have enough cash on him to last more than a day. And even if he did, he would never have left without telling me. He would have said something.” She slumps, shoulders caving in. “Maybe I’m delusional.”
