Still, I didn’t. A lifetime had passed since the night at my dining table. Now I could hold my tongue. Now I knew I wasn’t the headstrong girl my Professor had raised me to be. No matter what Ettie said, I wasn’t a girl at all.

“I’m a Mem,” I said into the tweed of his vest, as though into the starchy veil of a confessional.

He took my face in his large hands, his palms warming my cheeks and chin, his long fingers curving over my temples.

“T’es ma petite,” he answered, as if that were something else entirely.

He led me up the stairwell and past reception in the same outfit I’d worn the day I surrendered myself. They’d been my favorite heels for traipsing the city streets—the lace-up oxford pumps in burgundy leather—and I always felt smart matching them with the cap-sleeved lace dress with the burgundy sash that sat low on the hips. I smiled when I was back in my own clothing, relieved that I’d dressed so well for recall now that I was going to meet the man who’d wanted to marry me. The man who’d married Dolores.

“It hasn’t gone well, my dear,” the Professor confided when we were still in my dormitory. “I’d hoped they might see reason before it got this far. And I suppose they thought the same of me.”

“I’ve seen the Mems being repossessed,” I said, so he needn’t relive the entire ordeal in explaining it to me.

“The project is suffering a bit of backlash because of my taking Dolores to court, I’ll admit it. I was prepared to accept that.”

I tipped my head to catch his falling gaze and smiled encouragingly.

“The board was not. They won’t allow for an appeal if it comes to that, and it will. I’m certain they’d refuse to compel any Source to spare their Mem—especially Dolores Shepherd. They won’t allow for any more fighting at all.”

The Professor tossed his own head to the side as though casting off regard. “Oh, but how many of them care for anything but the welfare of the stockholders, and how many of them worry about anything but a return on their investments?!”

He laughed disgustedly, but only for a moment. Then he looked me in the eyes. “It’s a mess, Dolores. All of it.” He held my face between his great hands again and I covered them with my own. “I thought they’d all see reason.”

“No one cares for me the way you do.”

“I can’t accept that,” he said. “We’ve just been appealing to the wrong men.”

“So now we appeal to Mr. Shepherd?”