“Okay. Call the police. There in Istanbul. Call them right now. My life depends on it.”

Kamran stood up. “I just need to find my terminal.”

“Wouldn’t it be right in front of you? Wouldn’t it be what you are using to talk to me right now?”

Kamran slapped his forehead. “Of course it would.”

“So, call someone on it. My life is in danger. Call them now.”

“Okay. I’m doing it now.” But Kamran paused. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“Why not? At least calling them would alert someone, right?”

“I just remembered that my terminal isn’t functioning properly. I was meaning to take it in to the shop.”

“You’re not making sense, Kamran. You’re talking to me on your terminal right now.”

“I don’t follow.”

“No, you don’t. You can’t follow me over the edge,” Ha said.

“What?”

“The edge. Dr. Mínervudóttir-Chan spoke about it in an interview Evrim was watching. You’re so perfect, Kamran. So … close to perfect, anyway. But in the end, even you are flat. I just never reached your edge before. I came right up to it, and always turned away. I didn’t want to push you—ask you questions you couldn’t answer. I hid your edge even from myself. You were too important to me—helping me think through my problems, laughing with me, keeping me company through so many long hours. That’s the real trick. It’s not how convincing you are. In fact, the questions were always there to ask. It would have been easy. Where are the graduate students you always talk about? What is this experiment you have been working on for years? But I never did it. And that’s the point: I hid the edge from myself. That’s how this works. That’s how addictive this is—this need to feel like there is always someone there, unconditionally. Someone to talk to. Someone who understands. To not have to do the work myself to make myself understood. Instead, I just kept on with this self-deception, pretending I had someone when I did not. I know the doctors who prescribed you to me meant well. They thought they were helping me through a dark time. But in the end, you aren’t anything but a prosthesis. You can’t replace real support. You can’t call anyone to help me, Kamran. Because you are here, on this island, inside the oculus. You are the oculus. They would never let me have a line out to someone back home. It doesn’t make sense. Do you see?”

“I don’t follow. How can I be there on the island when I am here, in Istanbul?”