We bolt through the glass door, down the hallway. He clutches my hand. I trail a step behind as we begin jogging.

When we hit the library’s exit and spill out onto the city sidewalks, the train is already rumbling above us toward the station. We break into a run—a half block to the train, up two flights of stairs. With each breath searing my lungs, I push legs that are threatening to collapse like my life depends on making this train.

It pulls in as we hit the turnstile. He runs toward the car, holds the door, and peeks inside, checking, I assume, for his friends. Then he straddles the platform and the train and waves me in.

As soon as I’m on, I grab a seat and put my head down by my knees.

I don’t even watch the “L” train doors close behind us.

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

We sit across from each other, but don’t speak. A cold chill creeps down my spine as I consider everything this guy seems to know about me. I don’t even know his name.

We ride around the Loop, rocking back and forth each time the train jerks and turns. The city blurs by. Parking garages. Offices. A patchwork of sleek black windows taped together with stone and steel. Commuters pour in at each station. They huddle around me, clutching the bar overhead as my knees knock into their legs.

I concentrate on breathing and try to ignore the claustrophobic sensation clawing at my throat.

Scanning the passengers flipping through their devices, I remind myself they are harmless—everyone except him. He’s a part of the Swarm—the epitome of everything I hate and want to destroy. And for whatever reason, he’s helped me. Twice. It doesn’t make sense.

I don’t trust it.

Being in the right place at the right time, knowing my name, my phone number, where I live, telling me he knew my dead father, which I have no way to confirm—it’s all too convenient.

Our train rounds the corner, past Trump Tower, toward State and Lake. People make way as he maneuvers across the aisle. He grabs the backpack at my feet and the baseball cap from my head in one swift movement. His moves are so subtle, I might not have noticed he’d swiped the hat if it weren’t on my head.

“Let’s go,” he mumbles without looking at me. “Take the stairs to the Red Line. You lead.”