[INDENT][COLOR=SLATEGRAY][CENTER][sup][sup][h1][center][img] https://media.architecturaldigest.com/photos/672d4a5b823a46b3d7f713e1/16:9/w_2560%2Cc_limit/GettyImages-1867432941.jpg[/img][/center][b][center][color=black] S T .  D Y M P H N A ‘ S  H O M E[/color]
[color=lightgray]S T .  D Y M P H N A ‘ S  H O M E[/color][/center]
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[sup][sup][h1][b][center][color=black] F O R  W A Y W A R D  Y O U T H S[/color]
[color=lightgray]F O R  W A Y W A R D  Y O U T H S[/color][/center]
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[color=silver][sup][i]Joanie[/i][/sup][/color][/CENTER][/color][/INDENT]
The days that followed blurred together. Joanie had calmed down on the surface, but something in her had stayed tight and sore. She moved through the house with a short fuse, snapping at things she normally let slide. A new crack had appeared in their bedroom doorframe, spidering out from the hinge. Mina had noticed it first. Joanie ignored it.

She had told Mina and Trey about her conversation with Caleb in the diner, filling them in between moments of anger when she arrived home. She told them how Caleb had warned them to stay away from Harborlight. She told them he was mixed up in something dangerous. But she did not tell them about the Icelander. And she certainly did not tell them about the nightmare she had two nights ago, the one where she woke up gasping, convinced she could feel cold fingers closing around her throat.

Caleb had continued to reach out since the meeting, seemingly having remembered that he had Joanie’s number. He had texted her three times. Once to ask if she was safe. The subsequent times to apologise. She had not replied. She read them, before locking her phone and telling herself she would answer later. She never did. The messages sat there like small weights she refused to pick up.

In the meantime the house had only grown more chaotic. Rowan was still missing. Every hour that passed made it worse. 

The three of them had spent hours moving through the homeless encampment under the overpass, weaving between tents made from tarps and blankets, calling Rowan’s name until their voices went hoarse. People watched them from the shadows, wary and silent. A few shook their heads when shown his picture. One woman said she thought she had seen a boy with stone patches on his arms two nights ago, but after further questioning it seemed like she was just after some cash so she could score. 

The ground was muddy, the air smelled of smoke and damp clothes, and every unanswered call made the knot in Joanie’s chest tighten.

They were about to leave when an older man sitting by a barrel fire spoke up. His beard was grey and uneven, and his eyes were sharp despite the cold. He tapped the side of his nose with a gloved finger. 

“Kids go missing in this city all the time,” he said. “Cops don’t look too hard unless someone pays them to.”

When they got home they all ended up in the girls’ room without really deciding to. Mina dropped onto her bed with a groan, burying her face in the pillow. Trey slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, head tipped back. Whereas Joanie stayed standing for a moment, arms folded, staring at the faint crack in the doorframe as if it were a warning she had left for herself.

She kept seeing Rowan’s face. A sickening thought kept creeping up on her. Is this how it had started with Caleb? Is this how he’d found himself with the Icelander? A missing kid with nowhere else to go? The idea made her stomach twist.

“Joanie,” Mina said quietly, lifting her head. “You’re doing that staring thing again.”

“[color=plum]What staring thing?[/color]” Joanie muttered.

Trey rubbed his eyes and looked up at her. “What is it?”

“[color=plum]I’m just tired,[/color]” Joanie lied, looking away as she tried to hide her guilt.

Trey looked at her for a moment, narrowing his eyes before finally letting out a long breath.

“We need help. Real help.” He groaned. “I don’t want to be sneaking around encampments until dawn again.”

The words hit her more than she expected as her mind took took her back to a few years ago. Back to the man who had once stood in their hallway in a long dark coat, tall and quiet.

Joanie straightened before she even realised she was moving. She crossed the room, pulled open her desk drawer, and began rummaging through the clutter of notebooks and old receipts. Her fingers brushed the edge of a card she had not touched in months and had even scoffed when she had been first given it.

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