If anyone understood how badly I needed to take down the mayor and destroy the Swarm, it was Adam. He knew that my drive to hunt them, expose them, and watch them suffer the consequences—for murdering my father, ruining his reputation, robbing me of my sanity and any chance at a normal life—is the only thing that’s kept my mind from collapsing. If I’d continued seeing Dr. What’s-His-Name, he would have recognized it too. Only his take on it would have been much different from mine.

The ghost of Adam’s laughter swirls around my head. And then I see him, standing behind a pinched-looking woman a couple tables over. He mocks her as she complains to a sales associate that Siri’s voice is too robotic. She wants something that sounds more natural, more human. I can’t help but snicker at the way he mimics her expression, her gestures so well. We laugh together. One last time. I hope I never forget that sound. As much as it pains me, I bury it, sending Adam and my memories of him down the dark, twisty tunnel.

If I survive this week, I’ll start seeing Dr. What’s-His-Name again. I’ll go to his psychiatric care center if he thinks it will help. I will allow myself to give in, to break down, to accept help, and to heal the way I’m meant to. I promise—in exchange for strength, whatever I have left, to stay focused and clear-headed, at least until after the gala.

I check my watch. Fourteen minutes have passed. I study the sales associates, the customers in the store. No one looks interested in me. Like an addict, I type in one more name: Ryan Hewitt. For as much time as I’ve spent with him, I know very little.

Ryan Hewitt pops up on every site I search. None of them are the Ryan Hewitt I know. I add Chicago and even his dad’s name to the search, but it doesn’t help. The only other detail I know about him is the kind of car he drives, which won’t do anything.

“What exactly do you want to know?”

I spin around to find Emi Vega smirking at me. She wears a black belted coat with the collar popped and red stilettos. Her caramel hair is tucked into a red knit hat. An oversized Prada bag hangs on her shoulder.

I close out my windows, wondering what she saw.

“Last time I fell for that, you disappeared.”

Emi crosses her ankles, sticks her hands into her pockets. “These things take time.”

Her ankle jeans look perfectly tailored, and it annoys me.

“You got what you needed from me and bolted. What is it you need now?”

“I have your answers.” Emi lifts an eyebrow. She stares at me with a smug look on her face. “If you still want them.”