“Claire, wait for me,” Renee called out, but I was already running across the asphalt.

The rain stung my face, cold and sharp.

I burst through the double doors of the school, the smell of floor wax and cafeteria pizza washing over me.

Mrs. Latham, Nolan’s third-grade teacher, was standing in the hallway near the main office.

Her eyes were red, and she was clutching a folder to her chest.

“Claire,” Mrs. Latham said, rushing toward me. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

“Where is he?” I asked, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “Is Daniel still here?”

“The police searched the perimeter, but he fled before they arrived,” Mrs. Latham said, leading me down the quiet hallway. “Nolan saw him through the library window during recess. He ran straight to the science prep room.”

“Why the science room?” I asked.

“It’s where we keep the telescopes and the star charts,” Mrs. Latham explained, her voice softening. “He told me last week that it was his safe place because it was closest to the sky.”

We turned a corner into the older wing of the building, where the ceilings were high and the floorboards creaked.