Genevieve Winters was gone.
Jim and Erica raced through the gift shop and around the ticket windows, searching up and down the long curving lines of sightseers, ignoring irritated cries about budging and queue jumping. Jim clutched his sister’s hand and ran to the visitor’s plaza. He examined every face, chasing after turned heads and hunched shoulders, whipping a hoodie off a startled skater boy.
Their mother was gone.
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