Nora nodded. “You had chickenpox. You were supposed to come too.”
Lana sat beside her, stunned. “They told me no one would remember,” Nora whispered. “That no one would come.”
“Who told you that?” Lana asked gently.
Nora looked out the window, then back. “We never made it to Morning Lake.”
The next days were a blur of investigation and revelation. Forensics found no remains in the bus, but unearthed a photo wedged behind a panel: a group of children standing in front of a boarded-up building, their faces blank. In the shadows behind them, a tall, bearded man.
