I stomp on his insole, the way Nazarin taught me. The sharp stiletto of my heel presses on his foot and I’m sure I hear something snap. He cries out and I twist my arm, breaking free.

He rushes me again, but this time I see it coming. Nazarin’s training serves me well enough, but I won’t be able to avoid him forever. He’s much bigger than me, and much, much angrier. I look for a weapon and grab the nearest chair, stepping over the body of the blond man. I bring up the chair and swing it at him, trying to frighten him off, and then I hold it close to me like a lion-tamer against a rabid man with a mane of green hair. The signal to my implants is blocked—the voice and images are silent in my head, including the self-defense programs for the implants. I’m left to fend for myself.

He attacks me and I smash him with the chair, grunting with the effort. He barely staggers, and then reaches out and grabs the chair so hard that I have to release it.

“Stop it!” I bellow at him, even though I’m not supposed to speak. He gives a shout, more of a roar, and hits me hard on my shoulder and I drop. I cry out and roll out of the way just before he brings the chair down again, and it shatters into splinters. I grab a broken leg, sharpened to a point. Snarling, enraged as I was in Mia’s Vervescape, I thrust up.

Blood spurts from the wound, drenching my hands. The green-haired man sputters. He no longer looks angry. He looks scared, and hurt.

“Oh God,” I say, over and over again. “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.”

He falls right on top of me, driving the splinter of wood deeper into himself. His blood seeps onto me. I push him away. He’s so heavy. I crawl away and throw up, retching until there’s nothing left. When I’m done I sit back on my heels, wrapping my arms around my knees and shaking. I’m surrounded by three dead bodies, splatters of blood and sick marring the perfect white of the room.

Now, even if Tila hadn’t killed Vuk, I’ve killed someone. I’m no longer the woman I was a week ago. I’m no longer an engineer and someone who follows the rules. I’m a murderer. I say it out loud. “I’m a murderer.” I almost choke on the words, but I force myself to say it again. “I’m a murderer.” My throat is raw from vomiting and screaming. I want to curl up and disappear.

I close my eyes tight. My heart is still beating far too calmly. I tear the glasses from my face and throw them across the room, ripping the electrodes from my body by touch.