Both men stare at me, tower over me. I can’t look at the mayor. Dr. Marshall pulls his hand out of his white coat and gestures toward me. “Lia is one of our NICU success stories.”

The movement makes me flinch, and Dr. Marshall drops his hand.

The mayor nods. “That’s right. You had a twin who didn’t make it, right?”

He might as well pull out a knife and stab me in the lungs. At least air would be able to get to them. They look at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something. Instead I picture a stupid, gaudy fountain featuring a thirty-foot statue of the mayor and wonder whether they’re joking. It didn’t sound like it.

“It’s an unfortunate but common story,” Dr. Marshall says to the mayor. He turns to me. “I got to know your parents very well during the months you were here.” His face scrunches as he talks, taking on a concerned expression like he’s noticing I’m not registering what’s happening—the spastic, PTSD girl.

“Can I help you get somewhere?” he asks.

“I heard you were involved in another incident,” the mayor interrupts. There’s a slight change in his voice. No longer cordial. It’s fake. Empty. Hypocritical. Politician. “I’m very sorry to hear it, Lia.”

His polished smile. His gleaming, white teeth. His groomed eyebrows, which look like they’ve been tweezed and combed. He ordered the hit on Adam and me.

“The commissioner said your attackers just ran off.” There is something deliberate and taunting about the way he is looking at me. “I’ve read many police reports. That almost never happens. What a lucky girl you are.” The crow’s-feet in the corners of his eyes make him look congenial despite his dark undertone. “That must be some guardian angel looking after you.”

My eyes flit to his. He’s referencing Ryan. I know he is. He’s challenging my account of what happened. Because he knows Ryan was there. Lip Spikes and his friends were supposed to kill Adam and me. Someone told the mayor what happened, had to explain why I wasn’t dead.

The blood coursing through my veins turns to lava. I glare at the mayor with more hatred than I’ve ever felt. This is the man responsible for the horror controlling the city. He ordered my dad’s murder. Adam’s attack. Meanwhile he’s deciding on how to commemorate his legacy?

I want to say something that will hurt him. Something that will reduce him to shreds. Something that will make him feel an ounce of the loss and guilt and pain I have felt for the last two years.

The hallway lights flicker and dim. My knees flinch, anticipating an ambush, while no one else seems concerned.