“I knew about that too.” Gravelle smiles. “I’m pleased with how well the activation feature operated. Smoothly. Seamlessly. No bugs. No issues.”

So I told him everything. I gave it all away. Our plans to travel to New York City and protect Bianca. My skin crawls with the thought that I was betraying us all, without ever knowing it.

I look down at Emma, who’s bending over my father like she’s in prayer. My dad’s face is sweat-soaked. His eyes still closed. His jaw slack.

“But how…”

“How did I switch you? That was simple. When Eden paid me a surprise visit at the end of last year, I implanted a device in her brain, just like I did with all the DNA parents and originals, though it was harder with them; I had to send my ground crew to do that. The device transmitted all of Eden’s thoughts and memories straight to you, like a wireless download. And it worked perfectly. While Eden was thrust into my portal, I simply switched out your body with hers, one for the other, allowing you to escape my island—all the while letting you believe you were her. Well, you are her, because what is identity, really? But semantics. She stayed on Castor Island with me for the summer and the entire school year, until she was transferred here to Pollux.”

I look at Emma—not Eden, I’ll never use that name—the real Emma, the Similar, to gauge her reaction. Maybe she already knows all of this. She’s been here for nearly a year. That realization takes a chunk out of me. As much as I feel like I’ve been pushed off a cliff and can’t find purchase, I can’t imagine what it’s been like for her. Held captive all year while someone else lived her life. She’s rocking back and forth over her father, our father. If he dies, we’ll share a twin pain.

I think I’m going to be sick to my stomach. I feel like I’ve been tricked out of everything I’ve ever relied on, fundamental truths like “the earth is round” and “the sky is blue.” If Colin is her father, can he also be mine? What does this mean for me? Are my memories not my own? Is my entire life a lie, an even bigger one than I thought when I learned about the original Emma who died as a three-year-old? Am I even a person? Or simply a collection of data and memories and cells?

I’m snapped out of these despairing thoughts by Seymour. He’s striding over to Gravelle as he surveys Emma, then me.

“She knows?” Seymour asks his brother quietly. Gravelle nods.

Seymour studies me like I’m one of his specimens. “I hope you realize how perfect you are, 002.34.”

“Stop calling me that.”