It was sneaky, that little tendril of hope that his words tugged at. In the days and weeks to come Sisse would learn how dangerous hope could be. She'd watch it tear her friends apart and she'd learn just how very real this all was, how the second oldest of Sloane's brothers had seen it happen. But in this moment, that small sliver of hope made Sisse want to reach for Lester's hand. But that would be a bad idea and now that she was more composed and aware of her facilities she couldn't give in to such indications. He'd made his feelings perfectly clear back in December, regardless of how he sometimes looked at her, or how her heart hammered whenever they were even a fraction closer than was strictly necessary.

Tamping down on such foolish notions, particularly in a time such as now, Sisse lowered herself into a chair across from him, burying her hands into the folds of her dress as it pooled around her, resisting a similar urge to sit on her hands. Holding the extra fabric beside her legs was going to have to be good enough.

"Maybe they got it wrong?" There was no reason to hope, Sloane's family wouldn't have written otherwise, but still Sisse wanted to believe Sloane was out there somewhere. "But why would her mother write us then? If she wasn't sure?"