Their voices fade out as I push open the door to the stairwell, stepping over a fallen guard with blood pooled around his head to get past. I don’t have time to consider all the death around me or to wonder if Maude dealt Gravelle a fatal blow. I have to move, before it’s too late.

I can’t wrap my mind around what Seymour meant. Unleash the Duplicates? The Duplicates aren’t here. They’re there, on the video screen, in their homes, posing as my friends and family.

But when I exit the stairwell onto the first-floor hallway of the compound, I understand.

It’s like an army has been dispatched.

Bodies file into the hallway where several Similars are carrying DNA parents toward the library, aiming for that checkpoint, then the beach outside and the boats. But these aren’t just any bodies. Streaming into the hall is another Madison clone. Another Tessa. Another Archer. Another Pru. These clones are all dressed alike, in some kind of uniform that’s sleek and gray and built for fighting.

And now I understand. These are the Duplicates Seymour was referring to. They look like they’re here for one reason, and one reason only.

To destroy us.

We’ve taken out enough guards to prove we’re a formidable force. Several of us have guns, reluctant as we are to use them. But it’s clear why Seymour wanted these clones unleashed. He needs soldiers. Ones who are soulless enough, with little to no concern for their own well-being, to follow his every order. And right now, his orders are to fight—even kill—us.

These Duplicates look singularly focused on their task—blocking us from leaving. Several move, swiftly and effortlessly, to the opposite entryway—the glass doors on the other side of the library that lead outside, to the shore—and plant their bodies in front of it. I wonder if that door has already been sealed on Seymour’s orders, and if we’ll ever get past the Duplicates who now stand guard.

“They’re trapping us in,” I tell Maude as she races past me.

“Then we’ll fight them,” she growls, just as a Madison Duplicate steps into our path. Even though she’s here to fight us, I find myself enthralled by her eerily familiar face, exactly like Maude’s and Madison’s, yet blank—a blank slate, as Seymour put it. My stomach wrenches at the thought of what her life must be like. So empty. So pointless, except to do Gravelle and Seymour’s bidding.

“I’ll help,” a voice pipes up. It’s the real Madison Huxley, looking more resolved than I’ve ever seen her. She grabs Maude’s free hand, and mine, and together, the three of us encircle the Madison Duplicate in a human ring. There’s no way for her to escape. She’s blocked on all sides.