Xifeng’s hand falls away. She reclines in her chair. “You’ve grown.” The smile that crosses her face chills Ify. “It feels like so long ago. When we first met, you were a little girl alone in the jungle. You’d been fending for yourself for I don’t know how long. All alone. No family, no one to watch over you. And me, a simple VR filmmaker ferrying refugees to safety during the ceasefire.” She pauses, takes Ify in with her gaze. “How much of that time do you remember? Do you remember our conversations? Do you remember the little boy named Agu? The child soldier who could play a touchboard like a master? Absolutely gifted. How much of that do you remember?”

Ify realizes her whole body has been coiled this entire time. “Xifeng, what are you doing here?”

“The same thing I was doing when we first met, Ify. I’m preserving memory.”

“But . . .” Her throat has dried up. Words scratch against it. “But it’s against the law.”

The others watch in silence, but Ify finds herself wishing they’d intervene, wishing they’d take either her or Xifeng to another room, wishing they’d say something, do something, to put a stop to this. But Xifeng holds her gaze. So much of that face is as Ify remembers, but the hair has thinned a little, and gray threads through it. There are new wrinkles around her eyes and a new hardness in her cheeks and jawline. It is odd to Ify, seeing someone age, seeing someone who refuses to be frozen in amber, whose face isn’t just the same cyberized snapshot for the rest of their lives. Everything about Xifeng—her posture, her naturally aging face, the look in her eyes—suggests rebellion.

“Let me go,” Ify says.

“No one’s keeping you here.” Xifeng looks around at the young women standing guard. “You are absolutely free to leave on your own. But should you make it out of here, know that the security services will chase you.” She pulls a small tablet the size of her palm out of her breast pocket and swipes a few times before holding the screen out to Ify. “You are a known fugitive.”

Ify’s fists clench against the chairback.

Xifeng puts the device back in her pocket. “You were asking the wrong questions. Or, rather, the right ones. In these times, that is enough to get you reprogrammed. We saved you, Ify. If they find you, they will forcefully cyberize you and invade your mind and rip your memories right out.” She speaks with her hands, and with each word, it’s as though she loses more control over herself until she takes a moment to breathe and straighten herself.

“But I’m a Colonial official. They wouldn’t . . .” The rest dies in her throat.

A sigh escapes Xifeng. “Your country has changed so much since you’ve last been here.”