That night I pressed Abby to return again to Lauren’s. She didn’t want to. “You’ll sleep better,” I argued. “One of us needs to be able to think clearly. I’ll be fine.”

She relented. She kissed me, told me she was praying for me, and left.

The FBI agent outside the door poked his head in. “Good night, Dr. Daniels.”

“Good night.”

I wasn’t sleepy. I had already taken three or four naps that day. Abby had patiently read while I slept. When I woke, she was always there, repeating to me why I was in the hospital, what the doctor had said, and the decision I needed to make about the surgery.

The hospital was quiet. My habitual evening VR escape beckoned. There were always exotic natural wonders to explore, archaeological sites to dig, former presidents to converse with, people to hook up with. I scanned some of my favorite options. None appealed.

I lay in bed, pondering the surgery. Again. Alistair signaled me. I had just received a tap from an unknown source. When I accessed it, a young woman appeared.

“Dr. Daniels, you have a message. It is text only.”

Text only. That was odd. “From whom?”

“The sender prefers to remain anonymous.”

“Play it, please.”

The text scrolled up.

Professor Daniels, I was so very sorry to hear about your hospitalization. I am sure this has been devastating to you. I am an expert in the neurosciences and would like to offer my services in the restoration of your brain. Discretion is important in our communication. If you are interested in discussing further, please meet me at the attached VR location.—A Concerned Friend

A concerned friend. I didn’t have any friends in the neurosciences. Or did I? Who was this person? How did he or she find out about my condition?

There was no downside to meeting the sender. No one could harm me in VR or affect the world outside of VR in any way. I couldn’t think of any risks, except saying something I shouldn’t say. As long as I exercised proper caution …

I entered VR. I found myself in an old-fashioned English gentlemen’s club, sitting in a leather captain’s chair. Across the table sat a man I instantly recognized as one of the world’s leading industrial technologists and richest men, and my probable assailant. Bryson Nichols.

“Welcome, Professor Daniels. I’m so glad that you chose to join me. Few people are invited here.”

I glanced around at the clientele. I hadn’t been in VR since the nanite attack. My brain, unfortunately, was the same inside or outside VR. I didn’t trust it in either realm. I looked back at my host. “Are you actually Bryson Nichols?”

“As opposed to a VR projection? Yes. I am quite assuredly Bryson Nichols.”

“How can I know that?”