Chapter 11 opens with Saint meticulously tracing a map in the quiet hours before sunrise, her focus locked on the van’s path she believes may lead her to Patch. Her bedroom is more functional than personal, filled with books and objects that reflect a mind busy with purpose rather than comfort. There are no framed memories, no trace of makeup or decorative items—only solitude and a mission that feels too heavy for someone her age. As the early morning light begins to stretch across the room, Saint notices the silence beyond her door and finds her grandmother already awake, sitting silently at the oak kitchen table. Norma’s sleeplessness is evident in the dark circles beneath her eyes, and her shaking head in response to the mention of bees suggests the weight of unspoken grief between them. Their exchange is minimal, but Saint senses the emotional undercurrent—something beyond words has left them both uneasy.

Saint readies herself for the day, brushing through tangles in her hair while fixating on her missing retainer—a small object that triggers a cascade of memories involving Patch and a summer chase through the cornfields. It had been a carefree moment, filled with laughter and dust, so different from the weighty silence now hanging in her home. Over a breakfast of scrambled eggs left untouched, Saint stares into the plate, unable to force herself to eat. Even food feels meaningless in the face of the unknown. Though school is canceled, Saint admits, more to herself than aloud, that even if it weren’t, she wouldn’t go. What drives her now isn’t routine but a need for answers—her thirst for knowledge now fueled by something far more personal than books. She thinks of Patch, the missing boy with the eye patch, and sends out a quiet, fervent prayer into the stillness, aching for signs that he’s alive.

Outside, a chill lingers in the air as Saint joins the others at the woodland edge where Chief Nix is assembling search teams. His tone is direct and measured as he explains the procedures—walk in a line, keep quiet, stay alert—but Saint feels herself shrinking when he singles her out and tells her she can’t participate. Her frustration simmers beneath the surface, especially when she notices some of the teenagers whispering and glancing in her direction. Despite her knowledge of the woods and the depth of her concern, she is dismissed, a decision that leaves her feeling powerless and invisible. Around her, the crowd splits into teams of workers, officers, and volunteers. The air is thick with dread, and Saint can almost feel it—this collective anticipation of discovering something they all fear.

As the search begins and the others step into the forest, Saint lingers on the edges, watching the trees swallow their silhouettes one by one. The stillness of the woods is deceptive—beautiful yet burdened by the possibility of tragedy hidden in its shadows. She debates disobeying the chief’s orders but knows the consequences could be serious, especially if anything were to happen. Her eyes trail the treeline, her mind racing with scenarios, her gut instinct telling her that answers lie somewhere within. Every snapped twig and distant bird call sends waves of tension through her. Though she’s been excluded from the official search, she remains deeply engaged, tracing the same steps in her mind and making mental notes about paths the others might miss.

The deeper meaning of this chapter rests not just in the literal search but in the symbolic loss and longing Saint is grappling with. Her desire to belong, to contribute, to rescue someone she cares about, is thwarted by adult decisions and a community unsure of how to handle grief. These moments reinforce Saint’s growing awareness of how fragile safety is, and how quickly someone can become a memory. The emotional distance between her and her grandmother is not out of coldness but shared helplessness. As Saint walks back home alone, her thoughts drift to Patch once more. She recalls the smallest details about him—his lopsided grin, the way he twisted words, the stories he told when no one else was listening. Every step she takes away from the searchers feels like a betrayal of him and herself, as though standing by without action erodes the thread of hope she’s tried so hard to preserve.

The chapter closes with a haunting kind of stillness. The trees stand tall and indifferent, the wind whispers through the branches, and the only movement is Saint’s quiet return to the kitchen where her map still lies, marked and ready. Her mission feels lonelier now, but more urgent than ever. In many ways, this moment marks her emotional pivot—from quiet desperation to firm resolve, from passive hope to active determination. Though the adults may see her as a child, Saint understands that loss doesn’t care about age, and when those in charge falter, someone must rise—no matter how young, no matter how afraid.