“We’ll be in your debt,” Annika replies, full of sincerity.

I try to smile, but my mouth seems to curve the wrong way. “No. We both know I’m already the one in yours.”

“Thank you just the same, Nami.”

I turn and climb the stairs, but stop near the doorway. “Hey, can I ask you one more thing?”

Her face brightens. “Of course.”

“What did you used to do when you were alive?” I think of her amber eyes. Soldier’s eyes. “Were you in the military?”

“Customer service for thirty-three years,” she says, the laughter returning. “How else would I be able to handle so much fucking nonsense?”

17

I TRACE MY FINGERS OVER my cheek, staring at my skin in the mirror. I’ve managed to dim the brightness a bit in an effort to feel human again, but I still don’t look like myself. My freckles have vanished. My features are symmetrical. And there’s a sparkle in my eyes that isn’t natural.

I haven’t seen my old face in weeks—maybe months, because who can possibly keep track of time in a place like this. And I know it sounds ridiculous to miss an oily T-zone and underplucked eyebrows, but I do.

Everything about me is too perfect now, like I’ve been fine-tuned and airbrushed to the highest standard. In life I would’ve loved this. Imagine waking up with hair that sits just right and skin that glows without any help. Imagine never again having a blemish or a scar or a crooked tooth.

Back then, it would’ve been a blessing. But now? Losing my humanity in my own reflection feels like a curse.

Now when I look at myself, I see the faces in Annika’s memories. I see the monster. My reflection is a constant reminder of who I’m supposed to be fighting, and why.

But it also reminds me how real they are. They may not dream, but can they love and hate? Do they feel sorrow and joy? Are they capable of regret? Of mercy?

I think of Prince Caelan in the market and the way his face told a thousand stories. He was more than a machine. More than a program.

Gil appears in the mirror, dressed in his usual black and gray, with the same mild irritation plastered on his face. I spin around too fast, bumping my elbow off the dresser. I wince, massaging the skin where a fresh bruise might’ve grown, but Gil only shakes his head disapprovingly.

“You need to work on hiding your human pain. Even when you think no one is watching,” he warns. “Because when it comes to the Residents? There’s always someone watching.”

Ophelia’s black eyes flash in my mind. If I called on her again, would she answer?

My arm falls to my side. “You seem very invested in making sure I’m afraid of them.”