The kitchen smelled like toast and regret.
I stared at Mia’s note for the hundredth time, hoping new words would magically appear. Something like “just kidding,” or “here’s a safe address,” or maybe “don’t worry, I’m actually a spy and totally in control.”
But no. Just those short, scared sentences in looping handwriting that tugged too hard at something inside me.
“She’s smart,” Jaxon said from the doorway, arms crossed. “Covered her tracks. I’ve called two shelters and three youth centers. Nothing.”
“She’s a kid,” I muttered. “She shouldn’t have to be smart like that.”
Jaxon leaned against the counter, his brow furrowed like he wanted to punch a wall but knew better than to scare me. “I don’t think she left because of us. I think someone pushed her.”
“I know,” I said quietly. “Whic
