“My friend couldn’t take it anymore,” Ryan continues. “He hit a victim. He didn’t mean to, but his hit was the final blow. The Swarm released him. Three months later, he took his own life—couldn’t live with what he’d done.”

“Jamie Cunnings.”

As if snapping out of it, his eyes meet mine. “The Swarm takes a toll on all of us.”

“How do you do it?”

He leans toward me, narrowing the space between us. “I’ve grown numb to it all. The attacks. The nightmares. I don’t have another option.” His sweatshirt brushes against the blanket I have around my shoulders, prickling my skin beneath it, and I wonder if he’s haunted during the daytime as well. Like me. “Too many people I’ve cared about have died. I guess at some point you’re willing to risk everything to protect the ones left, regardless of the cost.”

“Your brother and your friend,” I whisper.

“Your dad.”

The guilt and the constant drive to make up for the fact he’s still here—it controls him and every decision he makes. He doesn’t need to say it for me to understand it well.

I inch closer, like we’re trading secrets. “It’s connected to the Lakefront Project, isn’t it?”

The light catches his eyes again. Deep silver. Ryan brushes away the strand of hair still caught against my bottom lip with his index finger. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Save the Parks protesters have been getting a lot of press lately.”

The world spins. Flips upside down. My head grows light, and I think of Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole, sure that this is the moment everything changes.

“I think your dad knew that,” Ryan says, pain etched across his face. I can’t tell who it’s for—me, my dad, himself? He looks like the boy in the picture—a guy who plays soccer, a guy I can trust.

“I think he was pretty close to figuring out who ran the Swarm when they killed him.”

He talks so softly. The space between us grows smaller.

“Lia, your dad—” he starts, but he’s interrupted.

Someone is coming up the stairs leading to the rooftop.

Ryan’s head snaps. He jumps in front of me, shielding me from the stairs.

“Get out,” my mom growls.

Ryan’s back turns rigid.

I step out from behind him. “Mom, it’s fine. He’s—”

She cuts me off, ignoring the fact I’m talking. “Stay away from her.” My mom’s voice is strong, threatening. Her hair dances frenetically around her head in the wind, but her eyes are narrow and forceful. I doubt Ryan even notices the way she grasps either side of our rooftop ledge like she might blow over if she doesn’t hold on.

Ryan’s hands dangle at his sides. I consider grabbing one and telling my mom who he is, but I don’t know how to describe him.

Her voice drops. “Don’t think I don’t know who you are and what you did.”