My mouth tries screaming again but nobody can hear me. No one knows. I’m traveling away from them. On a road I’ve ridden hundreds of times. Farmers markets, holiday light shows. Every year at the fair. I crane my head toward the window and see the bright lights twinkling behind us.

She sees me looking. “That fair was amazing. I’ve been to lots, but never to one that big. I bet you always get to go, though.” Panic clenches my chest. My throat constricts. Behind us, the fair lights start to fade. I can barely see the top of the Ferris wheel over the buildings. That’s our Lost and Found. Mom designated that spot in case we were ever separated in the crowd. Wherever you are, you can see the Ferris wheel. You just go there and wait. That’s where I’ll find you.

I try to read street signs, but my eyelids feel so heavy. I have no control of my body. My mouth tastes so much like cotton, I think at first she’s shoved something in my mouth, but it’s just my own tongue lolling around, helpless.

She’s not much older than me. Her eyes stay on the road. We sit high up, in a truck maybe. I don’t remember getting in here. She’s going fast, switching lanes with confidence. She says, “The tranquilizer will wear off eventually. I tried it on myself first, to make sure it was safe. I would never endanger you, Shea.”

I can’t weigh which is more frightening: the word tranquilizer or the fact that she knows my name. My wrist throbs. The skin directly under the cord feels numb. My fingertips tingle. Please, I try to pronounce. But it just comes out as a moan.

She glances over at me. “Listen, I get it. There’s a lot to process. But obviously, I need to drive carefully, for both our sakes. I’m a good driver, but I’m a new driver. I’d appreciate it if you could be considerate. We’re going to have so much time to talk, Shea. I promise. Try not to fight the medicine. Just close your eyes and rest.”

We’re driving along the Puyallup River. I see it, a dark ribbon curling along the road. We head through the reservation and past the Ill Eagle fireworks store. Every now and then I see a car pulled over to the side of the road, an RV stretched in an almost empty lot. No one sees us.

“When you feel more up for talking, you can call me Nora. It’s a little odd, frankly, that you wouldn’t ask. But I’ve noticed that about you—I hope my honesty is welcome here—you just don’t seem that interested in other people, Shea. It’s you, you, you.”

My lower lip starts to tremble. I bite it for betraying me. Next to me, Nora does not appear to notice. “There’s an us now, though. So let me tell you a little about your new other half. I turn seventeen in December. I dance as well. No formal training. Sonny—that’s my father—he would never allow for that kind of ‘indulgence.’ But that just means I had to work harder to learn.

“Same thing, honestly, with tech. I have so much to learn from you in terms of the platform. And maybe filming. I’ve noticed that lately you’ve evolved that aspect of the channel pretty quickly. Lots of new lighting tricks, fresh angles. Really, Shea—your work is seen.

“I don’t mean to imply that I have nothing to contribute. My goodness, that’s not the case at all. I have so many ideas. This cabin has been in our family for years—it’s a totally unexpected setting for a new turn in your channel. A collaboration—with me!”

I stare out the window into the darkness and imagine Delancey and the rest of my friends spilling out of the fun-house exit. They laugh and compare selfies and then someone starts to wonder what’s taking me so long.

I remember feeling so tired, how my feet felt encased in stone. My armpits burn from where the girl held me up and dragged me. The fun-house doors were marked EXIT ONLY. My friends might have tried the door anyway until someone stepped in and directed them to the front entrance. I imagine Delancey holding up their wristband, impatiently running it under the scan, probably angry at me for holding everyone up.

Or maybe Delancey was too angry for all that trouble. Maybe they just rolled their eyes and headed on to wait in the next line. Jolie’s favorite ride is the Cliff Hanger. We promised we’d go back when the line was shorter. Maybe my friends decided I would meet them there after I got all the mirror footage I wanted.

I’m thinking all these things, and meanwhile, the girl keeps talking.

“Listen, I’m pretty sure I’m one of your first followers. I’m talking early days, when you were still copying trends and TikTok phrases. So I fully recognize that this kind of partnership is a departure. But honestly, I think it’s exactly what the channel needs. Something fresh. And bonus for me—I get to learn from an expert—my idol. This is an incredible opportunity for both of us.”

Even in my current sick state, I can tell she sounds like she’s interviewing for a job or writing a college essay.

At some point Delancey’s going to realize I’m missing. I picture them sitting in the security booth at the fair, answering questions carefully. Maybe they’ll first talk to a security guard, and he’ll radio the mobile police station. Delancey will probably text my mom. With every step, they might all expect to find me somewhere with my phone held up to my face, obliviously recording new content. When will they know to worry about me?

“So the cabin.” The girl just chatters on as she drives me farther and farther away. “I’m sure you have questions. Built in the early 1900s, but Sonny’s made a ton of upgrades over the years. We’ll definitely have Wi-Fi of some kind up there, even if we need to run it through the satellite.

“I should probably warn you about Sonny.” I feel my whole face involuntarily flinch. “No, no. You don’t need to worry about Sonny. He hasn’t made his way up to Packwood for years. There’s no way he’s headed there anytime soon. This time of year, we might see a few leaf peepers. Even that’s doubtful.”

They’ll comb the fairgrounds first, still expecting to find me sitting at a lone corner table with hands sticky with cotton candy and my phone with a useless dead battery—just another dumb, lost kid.

“Sonny’s cabin is way out there in the foothills of Mount Rainier. The way I figure it, we’ll get out there, get settled, and start cranking out content. If we wrap up early enough before the pass closes for the first snowfall, then great. If not, we’ll spend the winter up there.”

She’s talking about the winter. The truck pitches over a rise in the road and a fresh wave of nausea washes over me. This girl, Nora, hasn’t taken me away for a night or two. She’s not going to drive me home tomorrow and let me out of her truck in the fair parking lot.

I don’t know a whole lot about the mountain. We don’t ski. I’ve gone there on school trips. And of course, in Tacoma, the mountain watches over everything we do. Sometimes you lie on the beach or sit at a waterfront café and you’ll look up to see the snowcapped mountain taking up a whole corner of the sky. Or you drive across the Narrows or up Route 705 and the mountain waits patiently. Pull into the Target parking lot; there’s Mount Rainier.

Mostly Mom and I have stayed in the city. We drive to Seattle and camp in state parks along the coast. Just hearing about Stevens Pass makes me nervous. The whole point of the pass is that sometimes you can’t. The snow rolls in and that road is no longer an option. My sedated brain scrambles to keep up with the details. I try to file the little remnant of information away somewhere. It’s the last weekend of the state fair—late September. How much longer before the pass closes? How much time do I have left for someone to come find me?

Nora chatters as she drives. “I don’t mind telling you, I’m a bit of a planner. I’m not boastful either, but you might just be impressed when you see what I’ve set up for us. I don’t want you to worry about logistics at all. That will give your creativity free rein. I’ve got all the practicalities covered, even if we end up staying through the winter. That’s one upside of watching Sonny prepare for World War III for the past few years. We have so many supplies. That’s something else about me that I think you’ll learn, Shea. One of my core beliefs is that it’s important to find the positive side of every situation.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, mostly to try to block out her voice for just a few seconds. My head aches; my wrist hurts. My throat burns like I’ve scraped it raw with the screams I’ve swallowed, sitting here with my hands tied in front of me. The girl beside me driving the truck just keeps chirping. She’s like a fire alarm, low on batteries. She’s now moved on to a detailed explanation of the generator set up at her father’s remote cabin in the mountains. I feel myself losing myself. Whatever she gave me wraps around me like cotton and softens the sharp edges of my anger. I feel only resignation. I float above the truck’s cab. My face presses against the cold window as I try to bring myself around, reminding myself to fight harder.

The road stretches out ahead of us, totally dark and mostly empty. Every now and then, an eighteen-wheeler barrels past us. Loggers making their way down the mountain. I half-heartedly hope the cargo will tumble out across the road, just to watch the girl beside me find the bright side of the crush of lumber. Every cab looks opaque in the darkness. No one can see me with my face pressed to the window, and anyway, I can’t even control my face enough to pronounce the word help.

She says, “You have no idea, I’ve been turning it over in my head for months. I’ve seen you really struggling, Shea.” Then she abruptly stops talking. I roll my head toward her to see what’s distracted her. She’s watching me closely. “This might be too soon. Maybe I have this habit of being too honest with other people. But that’s a way of building trust. I hope you learn that as soon as possible. I will always be honest with you.” Her voice catches, as if she’s choking back tears. “I’m feeling emotional now.” The truck speeds up to the next curve. I try to arrange my face into a sympathetic expression. For possibly the first time all night, Nora sounds guilty. “Maybe earlier, I wasn’t operating from a place of complete honesty.”

With one eye half open, I watch her argue with herself. “I did try my best.” She nods. “I worked to build a connection before offering anything critical.” She nods again. “It’s true that the technical aspects of your videos have significantly stepped up.” She inhales and then rolls back her shoulders as if she’s working up the courage to say something. “But the content of your channel has suffered.” Her speech speeds up, in a rush to explain herself. “I say that out of complete loyalty. I’m a true fan—an early follower. But your heart isn’t really in it lately, and all of us can tell.

“You’re lucky, you know. You have fans who care so much about you. It would be far easier to just hit unfollow.

“So maybe that feedback is tough to hear. I appreciate your listening with such an open mind. Because I think there’s an opportunity here to infuse your channel with a new and fresh perspective. You and me, Shea Davison. Look at us.” Nora gestures to our bodies. “Anyone can clearly see a resemblance. But we’re also so different. I’m what’s next, completely undiscovered. All those folks calling you a sellout in the comments? One quick stroke and you silence them. You make yourself relatable again. You just need to unveil your secret weapon.” I look up at her, searching. “Me!”

Nora pounds the steering wheel with excitement. “And if I had any doubts or any hesitations that this was the right path for both of us, well, that was just a lack of belief in myself. And let me tell you, that lack has evaporated. Because I did all of it, Shea Davison. Six months ago, I was afraid to leave my dad’s bunker. But I traveled all the way here. On my own. I found you. I … well, I convinced you. And now I’m driving us to a place completely off the grid, where we will rely on ourselves.”

She reaches for the radio then and twists the knob. “I’m not hurt or anything by your lack of enthusiasm. You’re feeling numb from the injection, I’m sure. The truth is, I shouldn’t be talking your ear off. I should focus on these winding roads. And you should stop fighting the medicine, Shea. Just put your head back and let yourself rest.”

My arms feel too heavy to lift, so I can’t wipe the snot off my own face. It’s a wet mess with drool and tears mixed in too. Outside the car window, I see nothing but pine trees—a tall gauntlet standing guard on either side of the highway. There aren’t any more landmarks to remember. No chance for help has materialized. It’s hope that I relinquish when I finally let my eyes fully close. I finally let myself sleep. For the first time, I obey.

*   *   *

When I wake, my wrists still throb, but this pain feels different. It takes some time to understand that I’m not sitting upright in a truck. Now my body stretches across a mattress. The silver band of a set of handcuffs encircles my left wrist. The other cuff is locked around the headboard of the four-poster bed. The metal digs into my sore skin and my shoulder aches and feels lopsided and dislocated.

“Help me, please. Somebody, help me!”

I croak the words. I try to boost myself up but my arm gives out from under me.

“Of course I will. I’m here to help.”

It hurts to turn but I force myself to confirm she’s real. The girl from the maze of mirrors sits cross-legged on a shabby armchair next to my bed.

“You don’t need to shout, Shea. I’m right beside you.”

“Somebody, please. Somebody, please help me!” With all the strength I have left, I lift myself off the bed, trying to get more air in my lungs.

“Listen, I know you were kind of out of it last night, but I worry that you didn’t pay attention to a single thing I told you. That’s just rude. That kind of behavior reinforces the stereotype that influencers are self-absorbed.”

The fog in my brain dissolves slightly. “Nora,” I pant.

“Good. Better.”

“Nora. My arms are killing me. I think I’m really injured.”

“Probably. I did my best, but you didn’t fully cooperate. Then getting you from the truck through the front door—that was an ordeal. You got pretty banged up in the process. But before you passed out, we chatted for a good long while. Do you remember any of it?”

“You took me—” I pause to catch my breath, and Nora purses her lips. “To your father’s cabin.” She nods encouragingly. “In the middle of nowhere.”

“Well, it’s not nowhere. But it is isolated—and that gives us a chance to focus on our collaboration. Remember? We talked about how lonely you were these past few months, all those signals you buried in your videos. I was the only one watching closely enough to understand them. And I’m here now. We’re here together. Shea, you don’t need to be alone anymore.”

She leans forward, smiling widely. I can’t stop my body from shuddering in response.

“All I want to be is alone,” I whisper.

Nora stands and reaches down. I cower back into the mattress. But she only brushes off her knees as if I somehow carried dirt into the house. “Sure. I’ll leave you alone.” She locks her eyes on mine. “We’ll see how that works out for you, Shea Davison.”