“I know.”

“And Parker. Jesus. What happens to Parker?” Jeremiah could hardly get the words out. He didn’t even try to hide the tears on his cheeks. He just let himself cry. Brent put a hand firmly on his shoulder and said nothing. After a moment, Jeremiah wiped his eyes roughly and pulled himself together enough to speak again. “Parker is alone with that clone now. He needs his father. He needs his real father.”

“I get that,” Brent said. “But they’re not going to let you go.”

“They have to. This is finished. I am not leaving my son alone with that thing.”

“He’s not alone. For all Parker knows he’s with his father. He’s going through this with you. I mean, Parker doesn’t know the difference. He’s okay for now.”

“What do you mean?” Jeremiah stared at Brent. “He’s not okay. Nothing is okay. Don’t you get that by now, Brent? Don’t you understand? I have to do something.”

“Let’s play a game of IF,” Brent said, out of left field.

“What? I don’t want to play the fucking game, Brent. Just go, will you? I want to be alone.”

“I think it will help,” he persisted, and proceeded to turn on the controllers and the headsets.

“How the hell is that going to help? You’re crazy!”

“It’ll be a diversion. Come on. Just one quick game. Please? Humor me.” Brent’s eyes were fixed on Jeremiah, his mouth tensed in a straight line across his face, urging him to accept. “Please.” Something in his eyes was deadly serious. “I want to help you.”

Reluctantly, Jeremiah took the headset and put it on. The wall in front of them morphed into an image of the virtual battlefield, fixed at the precise point they’d left it several days before. Brent didn’t touch the avatar but began typing a message with his controller. Jeremiah watched as words appeared on the sidebar.

Type. Don’t talk. Natalie told me she saw something under the Meld. She saw that someone out there knew.

Knew what?

That it wasn’t you.

Diana didn’t know.

Are we sure? Maybe she did know. Maybe what she said was true.

Diana didn’t know. It wasn’t her.

Who, then?

Doesn’t matter.

Who?

Louie.

Dog?

Yes. He knows. He knew from the first day.

She must have seen that. She must have thought it was Diana. Then they saw the tape, heard what she said. I should have listened to you. I should have helped you. I’m sorry.

Jeremiah didn’t type a reply. A dread washed over him as Brent’s words sunk in. He read them over again, then took his headgear off and laid it gently on the table in front of him. He walked out, through the bedroom and into the bathroom, where he thought he might vomit. He was shaking, and his reflection in the mirror was ashy. He steadied himself against the sink and breathed in and out slowly, trying to settle his churning stomach.

All of this was his own fault. He’d been so smug, so self-righteous, trying to keep secrets from them. It was impossible to keep a secret under the Meld. From his suspicions about Charles Scott—his illness, the fact that he’d released Meld to fund his personal clone—to the emails he’d read about the army’s involvement, it was all there in his head. The Meld just distorted all of that, mixed it up and spit it back to her as vague red flags.