“We’ve been over this,” I say, resigned. “I know I am. And my dad confirmed it. Right, Dad?”

He nods, and I imagine that simple gesture is taking all the energy he has left. I feel bile in my throat, watching him slip away like this. Unable to do anything for him. I’m so furious and devastated that I can barely hold up my end of this conversation. I wish Gravelle would go away. What does he want from me? What fresh torture is he trying to inflict? In my peripheral vision, I see that the Similars have stormed out the blasted door and are successfully carrying DNA parents to safety. Guards line the floor, some injured, others dead. I know my friends had to use those guns. I know they hated every minute of it. But what choice did they have?

Then I see her.

She’s standing there, amid the action and chaos, looking so much like me. Same brown hair. Same brown eyes. She walks into the room, right through the center of the fray, and faces me.

She is my exact copy. Another Emma.

She is me.

“You made a Duplicate of me?” I exclaim, reluctantly letting go of my father’s hand so I can stand and get a better look at this girl. Her features mirror my own exactly, down to the last freckle and smile line. I’m drawn to her, feeling an instant connection. But of course I do; she’s my copy. “But why? I’m a Similar, not an original. You copied the originals, not us.” I’m reeling, not understanding this at all. I feel like I’m in the bottom of one of those holiday snow globes, looking up at a world I can’t make sense of. Is this how my friends felt when they faced their DNA twins? Because this Emma feels oddly like a part of me.

The other Emma takes a step toward me, and I brace myself, defensive.

She doesn’t come any closer. She pauses where she is, five or six feet away from me, sensing my distress.

“I’m not here to fight you,” she says, with a kind of fierceness I wonder if I possess too.

I hold up my hands in a gesture of surrender. “That’s the last thing I want,” I tell her.

“Good,” she answers. “Because the only thing I care about is getting Ollie and Levi and my dad and my friends off this island. Where are they? Are they okay? Because if they aren’t, I might seriously lose it—”

She stops midsentence, and I know exactly why. She’s seen him now. She’s noticed the heap at my feet. My father’s body, lying there, barely breathing.

She crumples to her knees, a silent “no” trying to escape her lips, but all that comes out is a muffled, strained cry.