I grab my bag, fling it around my torso, and pull my hat low across my brow. Ducking my head, I follow Adam as he meanders through the packed tables.

Adam holds the door for me, and we step onto the sidewalk.

“C’mere,” he says, holding out his arms. An unprecedented gesture.

“What are you doing? You hate hugs.”

“As of today, I’m officially more mature. And you look like you need one.”

I wrap my arms around him and try not to get snot on his shirt—he’d never hug me again. Adam pats me on the back several times, indicating his discomfort. He releases before I do.

The corners of my mouth flinch. It’s my best attempt at smiling. “I’ll call an Uber,” I say.

“Don’t be silly. You’re tough, but you still have scary people out there who want you dead. And your stalker boy seems to have abandoned you. Arguing will only delay the inevitable, and I’m dying to get home.”

“Birthday cake?”

Adam winks. “Hackers forum.”

We turn down the street and walk toward Adam’s car a block away.

“I also have a little something for you.”

“This isn’t the way it’s supposed to work on your birthday.”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t expect much from you tonight.”

I’m not sure whether to be grateful or saddened by his perception. I cross my arms against my chest—the night is colder than I thought—and wait for Adam to hand over my fortune cookie. I must have left it. He knows I love those stupid stale desserts. But Adam keeps his hands in his jacket pocket, drawing out the anticipation in true Adam fashion, as we walk down the middle of the sidewalk.

I grow jittery, being so exposed.

He raises his eyebrows. “October twentieth.”

Adam wears a mischievous smile I can’t quite place. I stop dead in my tracks. He turns to face me in front of the alley and smirks. “If you can’t be the city’s vigilante, someone has to be.”

The date of the next attack. A month and a half after the last one. I try to remember the last time the attacks were so close together, like there’s something to it. My hands, hanging at my sides, sweat and tingle. Just as I’m about to ask how he found out, a voice calls out, “Adam?”

Our heads turn toward the alley. Aside from two metal trash bins wrapped with chains, the alley looks empty.

My body tenses.

A guy in a heavy down coat steps out from behind the rusted blue bin. “Today’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

I squint to make out the details of his face, concealed in shadows cast by the surrounding buildings. His eyes are large and dark. There’s something coaxing about the way he looks at Adam.