The last parent heads towards the parking lot, his childrens’ hands in his.

A breeze blows through the playground, distilling the cold air that seemed unmovable. Leaves scatter, and I stand up from the picnic table, putting my phone away.

I bunch up Tyler’s coat in my arms, the closest thing I have to a security blanket.

He needs this more than me.

Normally, calling out his name and telling him he’s won sends him crawling out from wherever he’s hiding, giggling all the way.

But that hasn’t worked this evening.

Chains begin to creak behind me.

I look over my shoulder.

A girl sits slumped in the swing furthest from where I stand. Her bare feet trail along the mulch, not resisting the swing’s movement.

I step toward her, old trainers squeaking, and step again, and again, and again, like someone’s telling me how.

What she’s wearing can’t be more than pajamas, a dull, grey cotton I don’t imagine any child choosing over the normal colorful patterns, like Tyler’s firetruck PJs waiting for him at home.

“Hi, there,” I say to the girl, my voice a higher pitch than normal.

Her eyes stay wide open, staring straight ahead. Her eyes are glazed, seemingly seeing through the woods not far ahead.

I open my mouth, close it, and then open it again. “My name is Leah,” I tell her, sounding much too formal, “and I’m looking for my brother. His name’s Tyler.”

I pause.

No response.

I shift from foot to foot. “Have you seen him?”

She blinks for the first time, slowly, mechanically.

“He’s a bit younger than you, and he has dark hair like mine, and he’s wearing a blue football jersey.”

I should never have let him take his coat off in this weather. He said it made running around too warm to be fun, and I didn’t want him to make a fit over nothing.

The girl’s eyes focus somewhere on my face that isn’t my eyes, the way Tyler looks at all of us when he sleepwalks at night.

The girl mumbles something, only a few syllables.

“Sorry, can you speak up? This wind is really loud.”

The wind wasn’t that loud.

“Millie.”

I crouch slightly. “Millie?”

She sits up straighter, her head almost level with mine. I’m short, but she’s taller than I realised.

I smile, cracking my face muscles out of hibernation. “You’re Millie? That’s a nice name. It’s good to meet you, Millie.”

She turns forward again.

Her hand reaches up from the side, and my insides jump. She scratches at her face, leaving white lines and dirt along her cheek. Each nail is longer than it should be, like an animal’s claw.

I swallow and take a step back. Tyler’s coat is tighter in my arms than before.

My phone sits deep in my pocket, still warm. If I call Mum now, will she pick up?

“If you’re cold,” I begin slowly, part of myself wanting the other to stop talking, “I can give you my brother’s coat. I think it would fit on you until we find him.”

The playground seems oddly quiet, and then the silence hits me: The chains stopped creaking. Her swing sits unmoving, and the girl’s toes sink into the mulch, like quicksand pulling someone under.

I look up and around. No one else is in sight, not even down the street or along the woods.

“We should find your parents, too,” I say. I turn back to her. “Do you know where your parents are?”

“Parents?” she asks as if dazed, like she’d waken from a long nap.

Maybe I should find an adult. Any adult.

I nod, although to who, I don’t know.

“I think I’m just going to keep looking,” I tell her, and begin walking backwards to who knows where. “Thank you anyway, though-“

“Does Tyler need parents?”

I stop. His coat slips in my hands.

“What?”

Still facing forward, her eyes slide towards me, slower and steadier than they should be.

“I don’t think he needs to be found,” she says, and her voice sounds croakier, like something unearthed after years of being buried.

I keep moving backwards, quickly, then turn, turn to the woods and its trees, blocking most of where the sun should be in the horizon.

“Leah?” she calls, sounding closer.

I stop again, but not because of her.

Tied to a branch on the forest’s edge is something blue and smeared in dark red.

A football jersey.