I take a cautious sip and fight the urge to make a face. It lacks the peppery, juniper punch of the true stuff. Not that we had that much of it at sixteen in the Hearth. But at the start of each season, anyone could have a glass or two (or ten, in the case of Mardel) of whatever had been brewed for the celebration. The blueberry vodka from the summer we were fourteen was my favorite.

I wonder if Nazarin’s ever tried real alcohol. If he was raised in cities, in this supposed perfection, and if he’s ever seen through the pretty illusions to the ugliness beneath. He must have, within the Ratel at least. I shudder.

We keep to ourselves as the bar fills with more attractive people. I match the faces and names to the sketches that I gleaned from Tila through the brainload. Eventually, I spy Leylani. She’s tall, with razor-straight dark hair to her waist. She has tanned skin, bright green eyes, and wears small shorts and heels so high my ankles hurt just to look at them. She’s obviously with a client, an Afghani woman in a hijab, wearing a long, dark blue dress with bell sleeves.

“Invite her over here,” Nazarin mutters under his breath. “Pretend to be Echo, and then eventually find a way to get her on her own. See what you can learn from her, if anything, and then afterward, tell me everything.”

I feel a little rush of excitement. After all the fear and uncertainty, the cramming and drilling and brainloading, here I am, about to truly pretend to be my sister to a stranger and start investigating what happened to her. One step closer—hopefully—to setting her free and finding out the truth of what she’s done.

I approach Leylani and smile confidently at her. Tila has given me more information about Leylani than any of the other hosts or hostesses—she spoke about her for at least half an hour in the brainloaded conversation, recounting past conversations and what she knew about her. Although Tila was friendly with her co-workers, I don’t think she was actually close friends with any of them. I’ve certainly never met any before. I’ve never questioned why that was; I assumed she wanted to keep her personal and work life separate. Now I wonder if there was more to it.

It seems like there was always more to it, when it came to my sister.

I smile at Leylani. Below the surface, I’m afraid that she’ll immediately realize I’m an imitation of the Echo she knows.

Leylani gives me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Echo!” she exclaims. “So good to see you. This is Sarah,” she says, introducing her client.