All the underground staff had access printed food, but everything Quanta ate came straight from a human chef; she’d negotiated the perk when she was fourteen and six years later, no one had ever tried to take the privilege from her.

No one had ever eaten a meal with her, either, but I was trying to build trust.

I let out a breath as I held my hand to her door scanner. Today’s stakes couldn’t be higher. We both had to play our roles to perfection. Beyond that, I planned to spend as many minutes of the day with her as possible before Darren reined me in.

The consequences of failure weighted my thoughts, but curiosity overwhelmed my caution. I wanted to find out how Quanta ticked.

The door slid open.

She sat waiting at the plastic kitchen table, leaning her head on her hand. Charcoal smeared her knuckles and streaked across her cheek and her hair was as tangled as ever, but somehow, in polka dot pajamas, she managed to look like a warrior.

“Good morning.” I set a tray in front of her as adrenaline coursed through me.

Show time. And the cameras were most certainly rolling.

Quanta pushed the tray across the table and motioned for the one still in my hand. “Trying to poison me already?”

I’d switched our meals around. Like a blithering idiot.

“My mistake.” I set her real tray in front of her and Quanta’s fingertips brushed my hand as she reached.

A cold wave shuddered from my scalp to my toes. For a second, my vision doubled.

Two Quantas. Two tables. Four trays.

Quanta’s gaze snapped to mine. She snatched her hand back and pressed it to her chest.

Accusation burned in her eyes as the shivering, numbing sensation faded.

She’d felt it too. But she thought I was the cause?

Shaking my head, I took my seat across from her. It wasn’t static electricity or anything else I could name, but something had passed between us. A telepathic communication? Or an attempt at one? If so, I wasn’t getting the message. I tilted my wrist to check her data. Her pulse was rising, and there’d been a brief spike in delta waves, but it had already leveled off.

My best guess was that she’d seen something particularly vivid, but I’d have to scan her historical data to be sure.

Apparently deciding to ignore me, Quanta uncovered her tray, revealing a spread of yogurt, steaming-hot pancakes, exotic fruits, and fresh-squeezed juice.

All real. All better than what most Helixes ate on a daily basis. I opened my tray expectantly, but found a plate of runny scrambled eggs and charcoal bacon. As if I didn’t already know who the VIP was.

Now she shot me a smug smile as she dipped a piece of kiwi in her yogurt. Real kiwi. They’d stopped commercially producing those a century ago.