Like a handful of teenagers willing to come forward to share intimate details of how the Swarm operates. A rush of adrenaline quivers through me. I’m about to tell her when I realize what she wants to do, what she might have already done. “You want to write a story about this.”

“It’s the only way to get people to open their eyes.”

This was always about getting the story for her, boosting her fame. And if she does that, she ruins everything.

I turn to the Apple desktop, clear the search history. I exit out of each window, find the database file in the hard drive, and delete that too. I need to get out of this store. Away from her.

Emi reaches into her bag and grabs something from it. Before I realize what she’s doing, she sticks a flash drive into the desktop.

Is she trying to retrieve everything I just searched for? So she can use that too? “What are you doing?”

Emi takes the mouse and begins clicking. “There’s a high school kid over there who hasn’t stopped staring at you since you entered the store.”

I search for who she’s talking about, half expecting to see Lip Spikes glaring at me, but I don’t see anyone.

“Either he’s checking you out in a very creepy way, or he’s been sent to follow you. If it’s the latter, I’m guessing he’s going to be all about this computer once you leave. And simply clearing the search history and trashing a file isn’t going to cut it.” Emi is deep into the Internet database when she pulls a folder from her flash drive and dumps it into the browser archives. She closes each window, pulls her device out, and drops it into her purse.

Emi crosses her arms and leans her hip against the table. “It’s a sub program.” She nods toward the desktop. “Scrambles the history. You’re covered.” She says it with confidence. It’s clear she’s done this before. “The article’s already written,” Emi continues. “I don’t mention you. But I bring up your dad’s death and pose the question that his attack might not have been the only targeted one.”

I grab the straps of my bag and step away from the desktop. This could give the mayor time to circumvent any real accusations. And from the sound of it, it does nothing to clear my dad’s name. I push my shoulders back. She wouldn’t have this article if it weren’t for me.

Emi’s expression softens. “It’s the only way, Lia,” she says. The diamond studs in her ears the size of my thumbnail flash as she tilts her head.

She’s going to make a fortune off this article.

“What if people blame Sydney Cornell and boycott the gala?”

“I’m releasing it after the gala.”