On a certain morning in June, Zula emerged from the building’s elevator into its lobby and donned her sunglasses. A yellow ball—the mildest of warnings—flickered in the corner of her vision. She glanced at it. It noticed the movement of her eyes and responded by letting her know that three VEILed pedestrians happened to be passing by outside.

Zula ignored it, pushed the door open, and saw them immediately: three high-school-aged girls, coffee cups in hand, gaily laughing and talking.

They all had wearables with large, reflective lenses, and so their eyes could not be seen. From the cheekbones down, their faces were exposed. But points and patches of light, projected by lasers in the lower rims of the glasses, were flashing and sliding all over their faces in a programmed manner that had been designed to foil facial-recognition algorithms.

Zula wasn’t using a VEIL. By exposing her face in a public area, she had, therefore, announced her location to any camera capable of seeing her and of checking her features against a database. Most people had become accustomed to this a long time ago and did not particularly care. But many preferred to opt out. You could avoid being recognized by wearing a physical veil and a pair of sunglasses, but most people in the industrialized world opted for its information-age equivalent.

To say that Verna and Maeve Braden had invented the Virtual Epiphanic Identity Lustre wasn’t quite right, since it incorporated a number of separate technologies. It had been more of a systems integration and branding play than an invention. But they had conceived it, named it, and made it a thing.

The VEIL was more likely to be worn by persons in the Venn diagram intersection of “young,” “geeky,” and “countercultural.” It was no surprise to find people like that on Capitol Hill. Zula was pretty sure that these three young ladies were on their way to the prep school a few blocks away. Over the coming half an hour, as she made her way down the hill into the South Lake Union district, the ambient culture would shift; it would still be geeky as hell, but the average age would trend upward, and people’s countercultural instincts would be muted or absent. Up here, though, wearing a VEIL was no more remarkable than having a stud in your nose. The building’s security system noticed VEILed passersby and marked them as mildly interesting—hence the yellow signal in Zula’s glasses—but it wasn’t quite the same thing as wearing a black ski mask.

“Epiphanic Identity” had not been thrown in just to make the acronym work. The words had particular meanings.