It can’t be Emi. She’s still on TV. It could be the concierge or room service bringing more food we won’t eat. Maybe it’s Chicago police to berate me with questions. But as the seconds drag on, I’m convinced it’s a hit man and that this was always the way it was going to end.

The doorknob rattles as it turns. The door opens, scraping across the carpet. The trembling begins in my hands. It snakes through my nerves until my whole body is shaking. I hold my breath, wait for my mom to talk. Whoever knocked will say something. Just as I’m about to scream, to lose control of the shaking and slip into a full-out panic attack, my mom steps into view. Her face is white with shock.

The hit man must have stabbed her. I’m about to see her body fall.

But then the door clicks shut, and Ryan steps around the corner.

He stands in front of my mom in a white T-shirt soaked in blood.

I want to trust my eyes, and I’m not sure if I should.

He walks hesitantly. He has a cut on his cheekbone in the middle of a swollen, purplish bruise. His shoulders hunch, like he’s sore, but he’s moving and breathing and alive.

I throw my legs off the side of the bed. I don’t feel the carpet beneath my feet. My body shakes and wobbles so badly I can barely walk. I cross the hotel living room, wondering if I’ve somehow lost my mind, and I’m only imagining him standing in front of me covered in blood.

He lifts his arms, like he’s opening them for me.

My cheeks burn as I pick up speed. Instead of collapsing into him, I shove him in the chest. “What are you doing here?”

He winces. “Lia—”

Every muscle is taught, threatening to snap. “I watched you die.” I motion to shove him again, but he catches my wrists.

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

I clench my teeth, trying to contain the shake in my voice. “You let me think—” You were dead. But I can’t say it. Because I can’t believe it. Dopney. My dad. Adam. Ryan. I watched them all die. I know I did.

Ryan pulls me in and wraps his arms around me. “I’m sorry.” His voice is low and coarse, and it reminds me of the first time I met him, when he threw me off the pier. He presses his lips against the side of my head just like I’d imagined in the mayor’s house. It’s too much. I try to push him away, determined to resist him and everything happening, but my efforts are futile. And I break.