Pru and Pippa head to Jaeger’s farm to spend the holiday with him. It’ll be their first Thanksgiving without Pru’s mom, and before Pru leaves for her train, I hug her tighter than I have in a long time, reminding her to be kind to herself. I’m nothing if not well trained in the stages of grief. Losing Ollie was not the same as losing a parent, but it taught me some things about survival, so I think I understand a small fraction of what Pru’s experiencing. Meanwhile, Ansel makes a quick trip back to Los Angeles to meet up with the de Leons, and Jago takes the train to stay with the Choates, but the rest of the Similars—Maude, Levi, and Theodora—remain on campus, without homes to return to, or invitations to Thanksgiving dinner.

With Pru gone, I’m alone in my room after dinner when I get a holo-call on my plum from an unknown number.

I tense up, fearing it’s who I think it is.

“Hello?” I brace myself.

A hologram pops up across from my bed, a strange hybrid between two- and three-dimensional.

It’s exactly who I expected, and dreaded. Augustus Gravelle.

Eden

I haven’t seen his face since the start of school, when he called me to warn me against contacting Levi. He’s the last person I want to see, ever again.

“Hello, Eden.” I’m not afraid in the immediate sense; this floating image of Gravelle is an eerie likeness of the real man, but it appears hollow, and I’m sure if I tried, I could swipe my hand right through him. Still, I fear whatever it is he’s called me about.

“What do you want?” I refuse to give Gravelle the courtesy of a proper greeting. He doesn’t deserve one.

“Your manners seem to have deteriorated since you visited me last April,” Gravelle tuts. “But no matter. They weren’t all that impressive to begin with.”

I scowl. This is the man who led me to believe Ollie was dead for nearly a year. Who is forcing the Similars to go along with his Legacy Project. Who killed that clone of Oliver two summers ago. I consider hanging up on him, but he stops me before I can.

“Let’s get down to brass tacks, Eden. You, my dear, are a Similar.”

“Your point?” I snarl.