“You have so much to look forward to,” I say to the nearest Duplicate, feeling myself smile even as tears streak down my face. I’m thinking of my dad, and how these might be the last words he ever hears me speak. I want him to know how much my life—hard as it’s been—has been filled with joy. “There’s so much wonder in the world you can still experience for the first time. And yes, there will be heartaches. And yes, there will be unbelievable highs. Like falling in love for the first time. And learning all the things about yourself, like what you love and what you hate. And most importantly, who you want to be. We’re individuals. People who can’t be molded and shaped and replaced and swapped like pieces on a giant chess board. I’m a Similar, but that doesn’t define me. Just like being a Duplicate isn’t the defining thing about you.”

I look from one Duplicate to another, digging as deeply within myself as I can to try to influence their minds. Focusing on the positive thoughts I want to convey to them and praying those can supersede the destructive ones they’ve been programmed with.

“Please,” I whisper. “Trust me. You don’t want this. You don’t have to be this.”

One of the Duplicates—a clone of Pru—steps toward me, and I think she might be about to say something to me. I reach out my hand. Maybe I really can do this. Bridge the divide. Show them another way—

“Enough!” Seymour shouts. His voice cuts into the silence, breaking the spell that I’ve cast. The Pru Duplicate steps back from me. She lowers her hand. Her brow furrows. Then she turns back to the others.

I let out a choked cry.

Seymour has broken my link to them. He’s cut the cord between me and them, severing our connection. For one moment, I thought I’d gotten through to them, gotten them on our side.

But if I did, the connection’s gone.

They turn away from me, resuming their fight with fresh purpose. I feel empty, as though I’ve utterly failed everyone.

“Impressive speech, Eden, but you didn’t fact-check it before delivery.”

Gravelle stands over me and my father, holding on to his cane like a lifeline. He looks shaky but intact. I scan his body for bullet wounds but don’t find any.

Didn’t Maude shoot him? What happened? Why is this bastard okay?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t care,” I answer, watching my dad’s face grow paler. His eyes are closed now, and his face looks ashen. His hand feels clammy in mine. Is this the end? I don’t know if I can bear it.

“You aren’t a Similar,” Gravelle replies. “That’s the part you got wrong.”