I think of the articles that were shoved in my bag. They were meant to threaten me, prevent me from doing what I did here tonight. This is all they’d need to justify killing me. Once again, I’ve screwed myself over with my inability to think things through.

I nod.

My head spins, flashing through all the faces I scrutinized on the third floor. I combed that room. I didn’t see anyone after me. None of them fit the Swarm’s profile. Breathing becomes increasingly labored as I search for a reason he would lie to me about this.

He lowers me to the ground and loosens his grip on my arms and mouth. “I’m going to let you go.”

The second he does, I jump away and spin around to face him.

The boy with the steel-gray eyes stands against the chipped blue railing of the stairwell. I press my back against the concrete, trying to keep as much distance between us as possible.

“Who are you?”

“Someone who’s helping you.”

I search his face for a sign of deceit, but his expression, half-hidden from the florescent lighting by a faded White Sox hat, remains emotionless and unreadable.

“I don’t believe you.”

His bulky hoodie—the one he wore the last time I saw him—masks the strength of his arms, which moments ago rendered me helpless. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Had you hacked into someone else’s account to check all those computers—maybe you wouldn’t,” he says, like I’ve somehow jeopardized him.

I’m tempted to lunge at him, punch him, kick him for throwing me off the pier. “You nearly killed me.”

“And you’re acting like you want to die,” he says, his voice intensifying as he echoes the same ludicrous thing my mom said to me yesterday. His square jaw sets. The muscles ripple beneath his skin.

I glance at the second-floor exit, assessing what it would take to escape, but he steps to the side and blocks my view.

“That couple you kept looking at?” His eyes narrow into crescent-shaped slits. “They’re part of the Swarm. You’re lucky they’re too into each other to notice you or what you were reading.”

It doesn’t make sense. They were out in the open, making a scene.

“We don’t walk around concealing our identities all day.”

I grit my teeth, refusing to let this guy make me feel stupid. How did he know I’d seen that couple? Or what I was doing here? “How do you know so much about me?”

“Anyone with a TV knows who you are.”

“Are you following me?”

He steps toward me as if to intimidate. “I don’t think you get the danger you’re in.”

I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin, extending my 5′5″ frame. “You didn’t answer my question.”