I blink several times, stalling for time, knowing it’s crucial I get this right. CPD has always been so dismissive of anything I’ve given them. Detective Irving clearly didn’t follow up on today’s lead. But this guy is the mayor’s assistant. If I told him about the tweet, the pictures, the video, he could use what I captured to isolate the attackers’ identities and start building a case. I’m on the edge of sharing it all when somewhere inside of me, a warning light flickers. I have to check out the footage first, before everyone dismisses me as a crazed conspiracy theorist. And I need to lie until I do.

Cullen snickers. “I’m sorry, but I can’t handle the suspense. Ask her what her last name is.”

Richard and the doctor look at Cullen. Then back at me.

“Finch,” I whisper, and wait for them to connect the dots.

Richard’s brow pinches together like he’s spinning through a Rolodex of names and faces.

Cullen, of course, can’t wait that long.

“As in Steven Finch,” he says. He scoots to the end of his chair like he’s watching a show.

I stare at my water and take another sip, clinging to my father’s name like an anchor.

Richard stands. I can feel him studying me as if looking for the family resemblance. He folds his arms across his chest and tucks his palms into his armpits. “Your father was really—”

“The Swarm’s last victim,” Cullen says, cutting him off. “Well,” he adds, “unless you count the one today.”

And just like that, my life is reduced to some sick joke.

I consider charging Cullen. Smacking that condescending smile off his face. Screaming at him for mocking the fifteen victims the Swarm has attacked in the last eleven years. And I might, if my head wasn’t spinning.

Richard leans over, putting his hands on his knees. His movement is constant, dizzying. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He smiles as if to reassure me. It’s awkward and draws attention to the gentle slope of his puffy neck. “The mayor and I are committed to doing whatever we can to help you through what must have been a horrifying experience.”

“You’re a strong young lady,” Dr. Marshall says as he helps me stand. “That’s a little over a mile you swam after you fell and hit your head. Right now, you need rest and probably a change of clothes.” He clutches my bicep, assisting my first few steps. “Should I call your mother and let her know which hospital you’ll be at?”

I nod.

“If I may—” Cullen begins.

“That’s enough from you,” Richard interrupts.