One teenager claimed he saw an eagle fly east that morning, toward the wooded ridge. Another mentioned a rocky cliff where hawks nested in spring. Theories swirled, fragile but hopeful. Lisa clutched a photo of Coco in her pocket.
She hadn’t let go of it since the moment the eagle disappeared over the trees. As the group discussed next steps, she glanced down the street—just in time to see David’s truck pull up. He climbed out, backpack slung over one shoulder, dressed in earth tones and hiking gear.