Emily Grimshaw. One way or another, her name kept coming up. It was Wednesday, day twelve for my missing bike. For Riley’s, it was day eleven. When he phoned with the latest update, I could hear in his voice that he was losing hope. “Someone took my reward posters down,” he told me with a sigh. “...
Early Thursday morning, Gran turned up at our door with a long, skinny box. Inside were cardboard rolls, balsa wood and knotted string. “It’s a kit I picked up for you at a garage sale, TJ,” she said. “Smell this.” She placed a small gray tube in my hand. The smell was sharp and smoky all at once...