Mayor Henking flips through a portfolio and drops his voice. “For the black and Mexican crack babies who will end up in my jails in fifteen years?” He tucks the leather folder beneath his arm.

At first, I’m not sure I heard him right, his tone so low and smooth, but Dr. Marshall doesn’t respond right away, like he’s been caught off guard. It’s his hesitation that confirms I heard the mayor’s racist comment correctly. A wave of anger rolls through me. As if I need another reason to hate this man.

“We’re a Level Three NICU. Preemies are flown in from all over the Midwest,” Dr. Marshall says. “The Jim Henking NICU would expand our capacity, so we wouldn’t have to turn away any babies who need the treatment.”

“The Jim Henking NICU. That does have a nice ring to it.” The mayor extends his hand. They shake. “I’ll discuss it with my team.” The mayor turns, takes a step in my direction.

I shrink behind the wall until I can’t see them. I pray they didn’t see me.

“It’ll be hard to compete with the Henking Hotel,” the mayor says. “Have you seen the plans for it? Taller than the Trump building. Right on Lake Michigan. Just stunning. It would change our whole skyline.”

I can’t tell if the mayor is getting louder or if they’re walking toward me. I scan the hallway, looking for a room to hide in, a stairway to duck into.

“And that fountain,” says Dr. Marshall, his voice flattened.

There are no restrooms, no doorways. Just a long, empty corridor of eggshell white. Not even a plant to hide behind.

Mayor Henking laughs. “If you want to add a fountain featuring a thirty-foot statue of me to your NICU project, give me a call.”

“Henking Hotel would be quite a legacy,” Dr. Marshall says.

They’re closing in.

“Chicago was headed toward bankruptcy before I turned it around. Now I’m funding projects like these. I’ve done a great deal for this city, and I want that remembered. I think I’ve earned that.”

A great deal? Like creating the Swarm? Using it to murder people? Blackmailing kids to participate? He can’t be serious.

There’s clapping on the back and chuckling, the mayor saying, “By the time we’re through with our improvement plans, no one will be calling us the Second City anymore,” in his schmaltzy way, but I’m only half listening. My shoulder blades press against the wall, like I can knock a hole into it and escape, when suddenly their noise cuts.

They see me before I see them.

My blood drains, leaving in its place a dizzying rush.

“Lia,” Dr. Marshall says. “Everything okay?”

They must notice the alarm scrawled across my face. I nod. “I’m visiting a friend.”