"He's gone," Sabrina answers, because someone has to say it. It has to be said. She's certain she feels the tears on her cold face, but she feels as if some part of her, maybe her astral self, still stands in front of the mess she'd made of the locator spell.

She presses in closer and closer, hoping the warmth of the other two, that they smell like themselves, that it will all anchor her to the moment.