“Chronic.” My voice is thick, scratchy.

Dr. Marshall smiles, no doubt overcompensating for Cullen’s indiscretion. “You also have a nice-size gash on your temple I stitched up. With any luck you won’t have much of a scar.” He grabs a pen light out of his pocket and flashes it in my right eye. It’s bright and abrupt and knocks me off balance.

Dr. Marshall catches my shoulder and gently pushes me upright. “Steady there. We’ll call you an ambulance and get you to a hospital.” He pockets his flashlight and wraps the stethoscope around his neck. “You have a mild concussion. You could use oxygen as well.”

Richard leans closer. “Shortly.” His narrow shoulders hunch over. “How did you end up on the mayor’s dock, Amelia?”

“Lia,” I say, with a cough.

His eyebrows arch like I’ve disclosed a secret. “Excuse me?”

“My name is Lia.”

Dr. Marshall lifts a glass toward my face. “Water?”

I take a sip and notice Cullen Henking slumped in a leather wing chair, staring at his phone and smirking like I’ve said something amusing, and I feel myself scowl. Girls at our school usually fawn over this guy.

“Lia, I’m Richard,” he says, drawing my attention. Richard’s short hair is gelled to one side. Sandy brown—like my dad’s, and the thought of him diffuses my irritation. My dad wore his hair the same too, except Richard’s sticks up a little in the back. “I’m the mayor’s chief of staff.” He gestures toward Dr. Marshall. “We called a doctor when we found you on the dock after the attack at Navy Pier. We think you climbed out of the water and rang the dock bell before you passed out. Can you tell us what happened leading up to that?”

The lines on Richard’s forehead scrunch as he waits for me to piece it together. But I can’t. I don’t remember ringing the bell, or climbing out of the water, or swimming to the dock after falling in. The last thing I remember is the guy charging me, grabbing me, yelling at me to jump off the pier. A guy who knew my name.

Richard licks his lips. “Lia, were you involved in the attack?”

His questions skip around, making them hard to follow. Several seconds pass until I realize he’s asking if I’m part of the Death Mob. “No.” I jerk away.

“Sorry. I had to ask. But you were there?”

A stinging sensation forms behind the bridge of my nose. I think of the man screaming from inside the Swarm. “Yes.”

“What can you remember?” Richard says.