A week or so after I first stumbled on the riot footage, one of the other film techs found some video from the night of the attack, which must’ve been filmed from the Envisioner, based on the angle. In the footage, Figueiredo and Tiago stormed into the room and huddled by the Envisioner. A couple of seconds of tense silence passed until the door burst open again and Tiago’s arm whipped out in such a blur that I almost didn’t see the gun in his hand. He shot the black-clad guy at the other end of the room square in the chest. Which only raised more questions. Why the hell did Tiago have a gun and why was he such a crack shot? Wasn’t he a scientist or something?

“I’m glad that Subject B isn’t dead,” Yusuf said. “That would be like watching myself get shot.”

Tiago was “Subject B” to Figueiredo’s “Subject A” in the reports. How romantic. Do you take Subject B to be your lawfully wedded husband?

I devoured more footage, especially of Figueiredo, following his stiff back and hard eyes across the screen. He was a horror-movie shadow, one that followed me everywhere I went, and when I wasn’t paying attention or my back was turned, it moved on its own. His eyes scoured the back of my head. I heard him. I hear him still, sometimes. I say him when I really mean me, the doubt in my head that uses his voice and his face—his narrowed eyes, the sharp edges of his jaw that could nick fingertips. Which is my voice but with a sarcastic laugh, one that made me wish the voice had a face to punch. His voice needled me in the Theater at night, with Kaori and Yusuf. They are literally trying to save the world and you’re watching videos in a dark room. What good are you, exactly?

The annoying part was that I knew he was right.

*   *   *

Me and Yusuf snagged a couple of blankets, one night, and borrowed one of the electric rentals to drive into the desert, past the Compound’s lights. I’d sweet-talked Lana into getting me a bottle of wine on one of her supply runs. We spread the blankets on the short hood of the car—I suggested the ground at first, but Yusuf had to remind me that scorpions were a thing here—and leaned back against the glass. I poured the wine into coffee mugs.