Moments later, I notice three men walking across the grassy lawn, and the crowd parts for them as they approach the Jake, Tessa, and Archer look-alikes. They wear uniforms, though I can’t place what kind; they appear vaguely official, like guards. But whoever the men are, and wherever they came from, the three clones stop what they’re doing as soon as they notice the guards. All three of them stiffen. The Tessa double shoots the Archer clone a look, and he shrugs. Then Tessa’s clone looks like she’s considering something. Thinking about what to do. In a split-second decision, she takes off, running across the grass, still only half-dressed, until she trips in her bare feet over a rock, stumbling. One of the guards is on her tail and closes his hand around her upper arm, grabbing her. A second guard approaches the Archer look-alike, who isn’t running but, rather, has shoved his hands in his pockets, resigned to the fact that he’s been caught. The third guard pulls the imposter Jake up from the ground and appears, from his body language and stern expression, to be lecturing him. Or giving him a warning.

“What did I say about returning to your dorms?” Fleischer’s voice booms out. Nearly everyone around me starts to gather up their backpacks and hustle, in a mass exodus, including Pru and the Similars. But I don’t move. I’m enthralled by what’s transpiring in front of me. These three clones are being reprimanded by guards who’ve only just shown up on campus. Who are these men? And how are they connected to these copies of Tessa, Archer, and Jake? Principal Fleischer must have the same questions, because I watch her charging toward the guards, confronting the one who’s hustling the Jake clone across the grass. She and the guard get into a discussion that looks heated, and I assume she’s questioning who he is and why he’s here—and how he has the jurisdiction to handle Tessa, Jake, and Archer like this. Because she likely doesn’t know they aren’t themselves, does she? After all, she’s been asleep, drugged in her room for the last twenty-four hours. Then the guard shows her something on his phone. I wish I could see what it is, because after reading it, her expression morphs from outrage to resignation. She makes a gesture that looks, from my vantage point, like “go ahead.”

“Em?” Ollie asks me. “We should probably listen to Fleischer or risk a decade in duty.”

“You go if you want,” I tell him, not taking my eyes off the guards.

“I’ll wait,” Ollie says. “Someone needs to make sure you don’t do anything reckless.”