The article says a whole lot of nothing. Dopney . . . still in the ICU . . . family with him . . . It’s long. Redundant. No mention of his trip or why he was visiting Chicago. I skim for his chance of survival, which is shared at the very bottom. “The next forty-eight hours will be crucial for Dopney as doctors work to restructure his jaw and assess the long-term effects of his injuries. He remains in a drug-induced coma until his future becomes clearer.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, realizing how unprepared I am to spend the day reading articles about Dopney and the attack I didn’t prevent.

But it’s necessary.

Drumming my fingers on the base of the computer, my nails click the aluminum in a speckled cadence as I skim through the next few sites. Most of the articles mention me and my dad and sound more like tabloids than serious reporting. One even speculates my involvement with gangs.

I snort. Of course they’d go there.

At some point, I notice the small wooden box resting on the table. Lifting the lid, I find stainless steel Chinese medicine balls. Another passive-aggressive gift implying I’m too stressed. That I might have another asthma attack. The lid thuds shut. I shove the box, which skids across the table.

As the day drifts by, I read through news articles, blogs. I even scan reporters’ social media sites, despite their nauseating and self-indulgent content, but my research is futile. Not one person even tries to speculate Dopney’s reason for his visit, whether he knows people in the city, whether he came here often.

Two hours into my search, I find a related link at the bottom of an article: “Amelia Finch is lying,” right next to Emi Vega’s immaculate face staring at me in a way that makes my skin crawl.

She would call me out on CNN and get my name added to the top of the Swarm’s hit list. Emi Vega’s so desperate to skyrocket her career out of this city and into the national market, she’d sell her soul. Or mine.

I grate my teeth. While my dad never openly talked with me about his case, I once overheard him tell my mom that whoever ran the Death Mob also made sure the attacks received very little national attention. At one point, my dad convinced CNN to run a story about it—something his critics hailed as self-indulgent, which wasn’t true. More exposure would have pressured this city into action. He was interviewed, but the segment never aired. As much as I would love for this story to be exposed to a national audience, I don’t trust Emi or anything she has to say.

I click the link and press my temples.