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“It’s my apartment.”

“Still. It’s late.”

“Eh. I can sleep when I’m dead,” I say, repeating a phrase he used to give me all the time when I was a kid.

It earns me a chuckle. “Goodnight, Mia."

“Goodnight, Dad.” I pause. “Lock your doors tonight. All of them. And set the alarm.”

A beat. He knows better than to ask why. “My babysitter already took care of it,” he says.

I groan. “Don’t start. It’s late.”

That gets me an outright laugh. “I’ll save it for tomorrow.”

“Deal,” I say.

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I hang up and sit for a moment with the phone in my lap. Echo has migrated from the pillow to my feet, and I reach down and scratch between his ears without thinking about it. He leans into it with his eyes half closed.

Normal. Everything is completely normal, and tomorrow I'll have breakfast with my dad and adequate eggs, and everything will be fine.

I reach for my pack on the floor beside the bed and find the hidden pocket. I unzip it. Reach in.

My fingers find nothing.

I sit up. Reach deeper.

Empty.

I open the bigger flap. Push aside the folded papers, the granola bars, the emergency kit. Nothing. I pull the pack into my lap and go through it properly; every pocket, every zipper, every folded corner. Outer left. Outer right. The other small hidden one along the spine. The front mesh pocket I never put anything in.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

My heart pounds.

Panic threatens.

I upend the pack onto the bed.

Everything tumbles out. Snacks, a folded tactical map, three of Echo’s stolen earrings. No vial. I sort through everything twice. Push it aside. Check the pack itself again with my hand all the way inside every compartment.

Empty.

This is not happening.

Blackness threatens the edges of my vision.

I get up and check my jacket. Both pockets, the interior breast pocket, the back. I check my dirty pants pockets. I check the bathroom counter, the nightstand drawer, the table by the front door where I sometimes put things when my hands are full.

Nothing.

I stalk back to my bedroom.

Echo watches me from the pillow. His tiny hands are folded together like he’s been wringing them. His expression is the one I've started to think of as his I know something face, which is somehow worse than if he just looked confused.