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My mother collects Faun before he can follow me off the bed, and Simon brings the laptop as we spill back into the hallway. Tamsin's room is only a few doors down, but by the time I reach it, the unease that has been hovering at the edge of my thoughts has started to acquire shape. I knock, wait approximately half a second, then knock again.

The door opens.

Tamsin looks from me to Simon to my mother holding a tiny dog, and one eyebrow rises. “Should I ask?”

“Have you heard from Serena?”

The eyebrow drops. “Earlier, yes.”

Something inside my chest loosens just enough that I can take a full breath. “When?”

“I don't know. A while ago.” She reaches for her phone on the dresser. “Why?”

“She's not answering.”

Tamsin's brows draw together. “She went for a walk.”

“I know.”

“She probably just—” Her eyes rove over my face, and whatever she sees there stops the rest. “What happened?”

I glance at Simon. He turns the laptop toward her, Cebastian's family photograph still filling the screen. “We figured out who the police chief is.”

Tamsin looks at the photograph, then back at me.

“Cebastian's father.”

For the briefest moment, she doesn't react. Then,. “Your Cebastian?”

“Unfortunately.”

She looks down at her phone again, thumb moving across the screen. “That's strange.”

Every muscle in my body seems to tighten at once. “What?”

“Serena sent me something earlier.” She scrolls through their messages. “She was on the ridge and wanted me to tell her how expensive a car was.”

“A car?”

“She thought it was odd.” Tamsin turns the phone toward me. “It was parked below the trail near that abandoned property she was trapped in last week.”

I take the phone from her.

The first thing I see is Serena's message asking whether the car is as fancy as she thinks it is. Underneath is Tamsin giving her shit about trespassing, followed by Serena repeatedly redirecting her back to the car.

Then I see the photograph.

Black sedan. Sleek body. Dark windows. Parked beside a fence at the bottom of the ridge.

I can’t process it. I just stare at the screen while everyone else waits for me to explain why I've stopped breathing.

I've ridden in that car.

More than once.

I know the leather interior. I know the stupidly expensive sound system Cebastian spent an entire drive bragging about. I've watched him toss his keys to a valet without looking back.

There is no possibility of mistaken identity.