The space at the top of my wrist itches. I run my fingertips over the bare skin, soothing the feeling, and my mind drifts to Ophelia. The old Ophelia. The one I thought I knew.

Maybe that was my first mistake—thinking I knew anything about artificial intelligence.

I place my thumb where my O-Tech screen should be. Maybe I’m a terrible person for finding it comforting, but what else do I have in this world? I can’t hug Mei, or watch Dad mix acrylics in the basement, or cook dinner with Mom. I can’t call Finn and ask him to meet me under the stars, where we can shout our secrets to the void and trust that’s where they’ll always stay.

I don’t even have Dad’s comics to transport me to another world for a little while. To give me thirty minutes to feel like the hero and the villain and everyone in between. Tokyo Circus was my escape. My hidden door in the wardrobe to another world.

If the memory of Ophelia eases the pain in my chest, is it really so bad if I hold on to it?

I imagine the screen on top of my wrist, illuminating with words I used to be able to hear out loud. Words that were reassuring, and safe.

“Am I going to be okay?” I whisper to the darkness—to the Ophelia that doesn’t exist.

I imagine her answering. I imagine her voice.

I close my eyes, and for one reckless moment I will it to be real.

Something tugs at my rib cage, like metal talons grabbing hold of my bones. Frantic, I try to open my eyes—to lunge forward—but I can’t move. My body is rigid, frozen, like it’s no longer mine at all.

Fear envelops me. I try to scream, but the sound stops in my throat, muffled by a force I can’t control.

My mind flashes. For a moment I feel as if I’m made of fire, blazing through Infinity like a comet, flying through mountains and galaxies and worlds. And then my existence stills and the world empties of all color and shape.

I’m standing in the middle of nothing.

A breath releases from my mouth, slow and careful and echoing back to me.

Where am I? What is this place?

I turn, footsteps heavy like I’m wading through water, but there’s only blackness.

“Hello?” I call out, and this time not even my echo answers me. “Is anyone there?”

I press my hand to my wrist, remembering my desperation. My need for comfort. And despite everything the Colony has told me, I called out to her.

What have I done?

Light crackles in the distance, answering.