Drake has been missing for a week. Seven days. Seven nights. Seven times waking up hoping someone found him, only to hear the same thing:
Nothing.
They found his backpack two days ago, torn, muddy, half‑buried under leaves deep in the woods. The sight of it made my stomach twist so hard I thought I’d be sick.
Since then, Noah and Emily haven’t left my side. Not once. Not at school. Not at home. Not during the searches.
I insisted on helping. I couldn’t sit around and do nothing while Drake was out there somewhere. Grace, Emily, and I helped Drake’s mom set up a command base at the community center, tables covered in maps, volunteer sign‑in sheets, missing posters, and trays of food no one touched. Meanwhile, Noah and Liam searched the woods with Drake’s dad and brothers, the police, an
