He’s better trained than I am. Much better trained. He swiftly wrenches my arm behind my back and holds me in a painful headlock. I’m starting to see stars when someone whacks him on the head with a piece of electronics, and the clone releases me.

I look up to see Levi taking on the Ollie clone.

“Go,” he orders. “This one’s mine.” The three of us run, tearing across the library, where I see many of the DNA parents gathered. Most of them aren’t functional and lean against the wall, either injured or too drugged to be able to fight. I panic when I see my own dad attempting to fend off two clones of himself, both eerily still, their emotionless faces like masks.

“Dad!” I rush toward him, pulling him away from the Duplicates. But they yank back. And they’re strong. Maybe even stronger than me.

I summon all my strength. You can do this, Emma. You might not be trained in fighting, but genetically, you’re still a Similar. I kick one Colin Duplicate in the gut with a satisfying jolt, then spin and throw my entire body weight at the other. Similars are fighting Duplicates all around me; the whole library is a mess of bodies and sweat and blood.

“Emma, no,” my father cries. “Save yourself—”

“No.” That’s the last thing I’d ever do. I claw at one of the Colin Duplicates’ faces, and Levi moves in to take on the other. When my father is finally free of their grasp, I beg him to run.

“Get outside the library doors. Find a boat.” I grimace as a Duplicate yanks me back by my hair.

But Levi delivers a hefty blow to that clone’s head, and he releases me. We share a look of triumph, but it’s short-lived. Two guards approach Levi from behind, out of his sight. I see one guard raise a gun. The other steps forward, his body poised to attack.

“Levi!” I scream. His eyes widen and lock on mine for a split second before he spins, facing the guards. He assumes a fighting stance, but before he can attack, I hear a gunshot.

No. No, no, no.

I feel my heart leaving my body as I realize what’s transpired. The guard has shot a bullet straight at Levi.

There’s a blur of bodies and shouts and the sickening sight of someone crumpling to the floor. I can’t look, I can’t face this, and yet my feet carry me independently, without instruction from my mind, across the sun-glinted room to the heap on the cool marble.

It’s not Levi.

It’s my father. He’s been shot.

“Dad?” I cry out, my voice sounding divorced from my body. “Daddy…”