Like a crumbling mountain, Mr. Nethers sank to a sitting position on the top stair.

Darcy brushed past Isobel, a whiff of expensive-smelling perfume wafting after her. Kneeling next to her husband, she draped an arm around his shoulders, whispering words Isobel couldn’t decipher.

But Varen’s father said nothing. He didn’t ask any more questions, and he didn’t look up. He only hung his head and sobbed.

Palpable, his remorse pulsed through the air, chiseling into Isobel’s own heart to strike a resonating chord there.

Regret was a feeling she had grown to know well.

Thick, heavy, suffocating—it was the one sensation that came closest to what it felt like to die.

“I’m sorry,” Isobel murmured, and it wasn’t until she’d uttered the words aloud that she realized why she’d done so: She wished she could tell her parents the same thing.

She had come here hoping to dig up the skeletons of Varen’s past. But in her attempt to gain understanding, to find out why the one person who should have cared for him the most had left him, she was instead reminded how badly absence itself could hurt. How much damage it could inflict.

Isobel wondered if she could ever accuse her own mother and father of what, in essence, she’d accused the Netherses of. Of not having paid enough attention. Of not caring enough until it was too late.

No, she thought. Never.

And still, here she was. Missing. Gone from their lives. Again.

Staring at the hand that clutched the photo of Varen, Isobel recalled the way her own father had squeezed her shoulder the previous night, and suddenly, all she wanted was to be back in that moment.

If she could live it again, she would stand up and wrap her arms around her dad and hug him so tight. She would beg him to forgive her. She’d tell him over and over that she loved him.

The school administrators had no doubt called her mom and dad by this point, and right now, wherever her parents were, they had to be going ballistic. Were they out looking for her somewhere? Or, like Varen’s parents, were they teetering on the verge of resigning themselves to the worst?

Her family had suffered through her death once.

She couldn’t put them through that again. No matter what came next, she couldn’t just turn her back on them and walk away, vanish into the dreamworld again without a single word—even if her only other option was to tell them everything.

And why hadn’t she? Why, if they’d been listening?

“I—I have to go,” Isobel murmured, the words meant more for her own ears than for Mr. and Mrs. Nethers.

Skirting past the pair, she hurried down the stairs.

Though Darcy called out to her, Isobel didn’t stop.

Without looking back, she tore open the front door and rushed out into the cold.

* * *

The bus lurched to its third stop since Isobel had boarded. Its doors slid open to let riders off and on.

“Eastern Parkway and Preston,” came the driver’s voice over the intercom, “Eastern Parkway and Preston.”

Isobel gripped her knees and thudded her heel against the floor. For the millionth time, she wished she had her phone. She also wished that there weren’t so many stops between the downtown preservation district and Cherokee Park.

Most of all, Isobel wished she was home.

Once or twice, she’d thought about asking to borrow someone else’s cell, deciding in the end to hold off. Another half hour and she’d be at her doorstep.

Though it was possible neither of her parents were home, Isobel still wanted to try the house first. She wanted to talk to her mom and dad in person without being overheard by a bus full of people, or having to field frantic questions about calling from a strange number. More than that, she wanted to speak to her mom and dad together.

Go home, Gwen had told her.

What had Gwen picked up on? And why hadn’t Isobel listened?

Thinking back to yesterday’s conversation with Danny, all that he’d divulged, she now wished she had followed Gwen’s instructions.

No doubt this latest disappearance of hers had triggered another blowup between her mom and dad. Had they caught wind of the rumors circulating around school about Varen’s return, too? Isobel wasn’t certain, but, at the very least, she assumed her parents were calling off their damage-control date. And what about Danny? Was he still in school, oblivious to her being missing? Or had her parents pulled him out?

Would she ever be able to convince him not to hate her?

A fresh wave of guilt fell heavy on her shoulders, but Isobel did her best to bear the weight, telling herself she’d deal with the fallout whenever and however it came. She didn’t have another choice.