“Bryce?” I asked her.
She nodded. “Bryce Kiley.”
Nice. I don’t think I’ve heard that surname before – Wildbow seems to have a preference for using some of the less common ones. Hebert, Hess, Laborn, Wilbourn, Vasil, Lindt, Piggot, etcetera.
“Is there any chance he escaped?”
“No. I’ve checked all the usual places. His friends, our old house, what’s left of it. I stopped by the hospital where Mom and Dad are, and the nurses say they haven’t seen him.”
Worth asking, at least.
“How long ago did he disappear?”
“Two days ago.”
Ah, more recent than I had expected. Fair enough, I suppose otherwise she’d have gotten in touch with the Protectorate by now.
I nodded. I vaguely recalled that the forty-eight hour mark was when police considered a missing person as good as gone.
Ahh, right. I guess maybe she went there first, and it’s gotten to that point, so she’s now looking for other sources of help, like the Protectorate or Skitter.
That didn’t mean I wouldn’t try. It also meant I could feel less guilty about handling things here, with my territory, before starting my search.
I’m not sure I follow that logic, but I think we all know Taylor doesn’t need any more guilt on her mind right now.
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