His mouth hangs open. I stroll over to him, place my hand under his chin, and clamp his jaw shut. “Azra! What are you doing here?” he says. “Nuh-uh. The question is, what are you still doing here?” I jut my thumb toward Mr. I Don’t Really Own a Dog. “And who’s this?” This is currently taking a seat on top of a rolling green carry-on bag in the middle of the woods. I swivel my head around. The woods behind Nate’s house. And This is smirking. Long and parted down the center, his red hair skims the top of his ear as he tilts his head to the side. He places his hand over his heart. “Hala. It is a pleasure to meet you finally, Azra.” A puff of orange hair sticks out from the open collar of his knee-length white tunic. The way he strokes his scruffy beard makes him appear nonchalant, unfazed. But his hand that twirls a slim black pen and his copper eyes that dart between me and Zak seem very, very fazed. He shifts on top of the carry-on. “What’s in the bag?” I ask.
