“Have you ever hit anyone during the attacks?”

Ryan’s jaw clenches, making his face look hard and angular. “Yes.” His knuckles turn white again. I imagine his hands covered with the blood of someone helpless—an unsuspecting tourist visiting Chicago for fun, only to be attacked by a mob of savage teenagers. I fight back the urge to flee. Those hands also pulled me from Lake Michigan and kept me afloat for a mile away from the attack.

Ryan catches me staring at them. He wipes his hands on his pants and stands without looking at me. “Your mom might come home for lunch.” He retrieves the broom and dustpan resting against the French doors. The glass tinkles as he begins sweeping it into a pile.

She’ll be at a luncheon today for the art gallery, but I don’t correct him. “I can clean up my own mess.” I stand less gracefully.

He doesn’t look my way. “Sit down.”

Just as I’m about to protest, he adds, “If you need to run for your life, it’d be good if you’re able to do it.”

Between my slashed foot, my concussed head, and my crap lungs, I’m not sure I could outrun a sloth if it decided to take me down.

I sink back into the white armchair and watch Ryan sweep my mom’s floor. “Does the name Paul mean anything to you?”

Ryan’s shoulders drop. He turns and looks at me as if he’s trying to read into the question. “Why?”

I try to sound nonchalant. “Just trying to make sense of everything.”

Ryan shuffles a piece of glass into the dustpan with his foot. “He was my older brother.”

My chest tightens. “Was?”

Ryan keeps sweeping as if the conversation is trivial. “He died when I was two.” The strain in his voice chips away at my defenses.

“How did he die?”

Ryan’s movement hitches, then stops altogether. “Asthma attack.”

He keeps his head down, sweeping, while I avert my gaze and remind myself to breathe.

When he’s done, he returns the broom and dustpan to its place in our pantry. Just as he’s about to walk out our French doors, he pauses and stares at me. His lips part slightly.

The air between us bristles as I anticipate whatever is about to come next, like it might change everything between us.

But Ryan’s eyes drop, and he leaves without saying anything at all.

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

After Ryan leaves, I prop my foot on the couch and try to distract myself, but bad daytime TV only lasts so long. Every time I try to make sense of his nightly meetings with my dad or his insinuation that the Swarm has some sort of sign-in process for the attacks, I’m filled with a nervous energy that muddles my thoughts.