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For once, he isn’t the podcaster and I’m not the forensic anthropologist trying to keep him at arm’s length.

We’re just two people trying to figure out what happened to Casey.

I stare at the boxes, then at the man who somehow knows more about my hometown than I do.

Baryn has information I need. I have information he wants. At some point, we’re going to have to stop circling each other long enough to compare notes.

Given what happens to my cardiovascular system when we occupy the same room, I’m starting to resent his claim of excellent circulation on principle.

Serena: I just spent four hours in my childhood home being interrogated by my mother while assisting in an archaeological dig of expired appliances.

Calla: NORMAL

Lila: Did you find anything valuable?

Serena: Yes. Approximately twelve years of unresolved psychological damage.

Calla: Love that for you.

Lila: Did Tamsin come with?

Serena: Tamsin. And Baryn.

Calla: OH

Lila: Oh no.

Serena: It was a situation.

Lila: Why was he there?!

Serena: He was going through my mother’s files.

Lila: Did your mom meet him??

Serena: Yes.

Calla: DID HE SURVIVEEEEE

Serena: She asked about his cardiovascular health.

Lila: ???

Calla: I need clarification.

Serena: She is assessing him for long-term viability.

Calla: As what?

Serena: Do not make me say it.

Calla: SAY IT

Serena: As a potential partner.

Calla: OH MY GOD

Calla: Did he run?