I struggle to my feet and start running again, but his recovery is quick. Richard lunges for me, tearing a panel of my dress as he misses.

I take another step. My heel sticks in the grass. The tiny hitch of movement is all he needs. Richard grabs my wrist. He pulls me, wrapping his arms around my waist, lifting me, hauling me back behind the house, to kill me—beat me, stab me, shoot me.

A light bounces through the dark. Emi and the cameraman charge us. “There’s Lia Finch. Richard Stewart, is she being held here against her will?”

Richard spins toward the spotlight accosting us both. He drops me. Richard straightens his posture, tugs at his lapels.

At the top of the camera, a tiny red light indicates they’re recording.

“Ms. Finch needs to be questioned for her role in tonight’s attack.” Richard’s voice is high. Nervous.

I rush toward Emi, ducking behind her.

“Under whose jurisdiction?” Emi cocks her head. She doesn’t wait for an answer. “I have footage of Ms. Finch trying to break up the riot before the attack and sources that confirm she’s been working with authorities to uncover the people behind the Death Mob.”

Emi makes a point to look from Richard to me. “Why is your lip bleeding? Did we just catch you assaulting her?”

I slide behind the cameraman, as if he can shield me.

Richard inhales through his nose, trying to remain composed. “She’s linked to three Death Mob murders, and you’re interfering with a national investigation. I will press charges and have you jailed.”

Emi taps her cameraman, who kills the feed. She glares at Richard. “I bet you’re linked to more than that.” Emi flares her nostrils. For several seconds, there seems to be a silent standoff between them before Emi speaks. “My station has this feed. Wrestling with a teenage girl on the lawn of the mayor’s house. Your bloody lip. Her torn dress, messy hair. Doesn’t look good. Especially if something were to happen to her.”

Richard’s expression darkens. “You’ll pay for this. I’ll see to it.” He leans toward her. “You’re disposable too, you know that?” Richard combs back his hair as if taming the strays will preserve his dignity. “Your kind always is.”

My hatred toward Richard surges inside me but Emi doesn’t flinch. If anything, she seems ignited. A ruthless smile spreads across her face. “Oh, retribution will be paid. Don’t you worry about that.” Her voice is smooth, silky. Emi steps toward Richard as if to continue, but the cameraman grabs her bicep. He guides her back, leading us both across the mayor’s manicured lawn.