“I don’t know,” I answered his question. The same thought had plagued me ever since I’d woken up in the hospital. The way the cops had taken my story had felt more like an interrogation than an interview. “My story hasn’t changed. Someone carried me from that building before it collapsed. His shirt had the letters SVHF. And he knew my name.” “That’s the part that freaks me out the most,” Meredith nibbled at a fingernail distractedly. “That means you know him.” “Or at least, he knows me.”
