“Are you certain?” the guy calls to me. “Or do you think I should ask another?”

“My phone says twelve forty-nine, but you can do whatever you want.” I glance at the guy in the black hat, who is now standing just a single step behind me with his head cocked to the side. The girl in the red dress has vanished.

“You really don’t know.” The whispered words brush the shadows. He removes his hat and I finally get a better look at his face. It’s one I recognize. The sharp-angled cheekbones, and deep-set dark eyes. I’ve drawn this face. He’s the one I followed from my mother’s building to this bridge just two days ago.

“Who are you?” I demand. “I was told to be here at twelve thirty. Are you the one who is supposed to meet me?”

He looks over his shoulder. I peer behind him, but neither of the people I can see in the distance appears to be looking this way.

“Answer me!” I snap. “Who are you?”

“I thought when you followed me here to the bridge that you knew.” He takes a step backward. “I’m sorry. This was a mistake.” He sets his hat low on his forehead and turns. “Go home.”

“Go home?” I shout. He doesn’t acknowledge me, so I chase after him to the edge of the bridge—back in the direction my mother’s paintings sent me yesterday.

“What do you mean this was a mistake? Hey! Stop!” I yell, and almost run right into him before I notice he actually followed my command.

For some reason that makes me even angrier. “Is this your idea of fun? Screwing with someone’s life? I basically encouraged my father to drink himself into a stupor tonight so I could get out of the house without any chance of him hearing me. I did that because I was told to come here by someone from your group—a group I was warned was dangerous by a person I have known all my life. You owe me answers!”

He removes his hat again and stares down at me for several long seconds before finally nodding. “Fine. Ask me one question. I’ll answer it as honestly as I can.”

One question? I have dozens of them. I should ask about my mother since she’s the reason I’m here. But what exactly do I ask?

I wrap my arms around myself to ward off the cold wind whipping from the river. “I’ve been told you’re part of a gang that is determined to undermine the city and harm the people in it and that ‘verify’ is a code word you use to create trouble.”

“Is there a question in there?”

“There would be if you waited for it to be asked,” I shoot back, wishing I were taller. I crane my neck upward to meet his eyes, which are shining bright against the charcoal blanket of night. “Is ‘verify’ a way of terrorizing people and causing trouble for the city? Or does it mean something more?”