My mouth feels like cotton wool and my vision is blurry. The room hums with the soft whirr of machinery. I try to move, but there are wires poking from my veins, holding me in place. I panic, not sure where I am. Have I come out of surgery again? My arm tries to move to my scar, but it can’t.

“T,” I whisper. Where is she?

“Is she OK?” asks a male voice I think I recognize. “It doesn’t normally take this long to wake up, does it?”

“It’s her mechanical heart. Usually when people are … excited in the Zealscape, their heart pumps faster—works through the drug quicker.”

I blink, shaking my head. A man leans over me. “You OK, Tila?”

I start at my sister’s name, still trying to figure out where I am. I shake my head, but the man gives me a warning look. I squint. He’s a detective. Detective Nazarin. I remember. I focus on my breathing, everything coming back to me as the last vestiges of Verve leave my system.

The orderly is taking out the needles from my arm. I shudder as I feel them slip out of my skin. Seems strangely barbaric and old-fashioned, but intravenous is still the best way to administer the drug to make the immersion in the Zeal or Verve world complete. You must know it wasn’t a Zealscape, I want to say. How much have the Ratel paid you? Have you contacted them? If he had, wouldn’t they already be here? I feel the aftereffects—a buzzing in my veins, a twitching in my muscles. If it was actually Zeal, my urge to kill and maim would be diminished. I’d feel happy and glowing. Because it’s Verve, I feel more keyed up than ever. I keep grinding my teeth together in anger, clenching my hands into fists.

Mia’s still deeply dreaming, lying flat on the Chair. Time can go a bit funny on these drugs. It felt like I was only there for an hour at most, but it’s been three hours out here. According to the clock on the wallscreen above her head, she still has eleven hours of depravity before she has to wake up and remember what she did in the harsh light of day. Perhaps eighteen hours before she’s here again, ready for more. How can she bear to do this, day after day?

The orderly finishes and I get off the Chair, unsteady on my feet.

I lean closer to Mia, and then I swallow hard. I’m almost sure I see the barest hint of bruising around her throat, and another thin mark where the scalpel nicked her. But that can’t be possible, can it? I clench my hands into fists deep within my pockets.