“So the tweet is an all-call. They need the attacks to be big.” It’s how the mayor invites more people, which means anyone can join. I can’t imagine what kind of person signs up to savagely murder someone else, but that’s not the point. “If I tweet back, then Saturday night when the location goes out—”

“No,” Ryan snaps. His jaw ripples beneath the skin. The muscles in his arms and chest tense. “Why would you do that?”

“The mayor wants me to go to the Save the Parks Gala with Cullen.” I glance at him. “He says it’s for the press, to have me standing next to him . . .”

Ryan’s shoulders stiffen. “The same night.”

“They’re picking me up thirty minutes before the attack starts.”

I search his face for a sign—any indication that there’s no correlation. That my worst fears are outrageous and illogical. But Ryan’s square jawline is sharp, his expression hard. “You can’t go.”

“They aren’t exactly giving me a choice.”

I’ve considered every angle—refusing, boycotting, running away. None of my options are good. These people killed my dad. Adam. Fourteen others. My mom would be next.

Ryan’s expression turns worried or desperate—I can’t tell. Either way, it stirs my anxiety, and for the first time since knowing him, I’d rather he bury his emotions like usual. “Tomorrow. I’ll go to the CPD.”

“Not without more people.” I lift my chin to make up for my size. For my shoulders that come up to his chest. For how narrow and small I feel every time I stand next to him. “We can’t afford that risk.” I pull the Post-it from my pocket. As I do, the back of my hand knocks into his stomach, which is solid and strong. Heat splashes across my neck, down my back, but Ryan doesn’t flinch. Like he didn’t feel it. Like it doesn’t matter how close we’re crammed together.

I rake my ratted hair. “It’s a list of others forced into it. Their parents are tied to the Lakefront Project like your dad.”

Ryan stares at the paper while I hold my breath, waiting for him to grab it. All it would take is one subtle shift for my hand to brush his hoodie. Goose pimples skip up my arms.

“If I take this, will you back off? Stick to our plan?”

I consider promising I’ll wait for him to come forward, which would be a lie. Or arguing back that this is my fight just as much as it is his. Instead, I say nothing.