“He and I did, together,” Seymour says. “They were created last year using my most advanced technology. Before that, I had only tested this technique with primates, never with human subjects.”

“Advanced technology?” Maude asks. “You mean the same method used to clone us?”

“Not exactly,” Seymour explains. “I have since iterated on the technology used to create you and the other Similars. The new technology creates fast-growing clones, who mature from infancy to adulthood in a matter of months. Because they have so few lived experiences, I downloaded thoughts, and even memories, into their brains.”

“Memories?” I press. “Whose memories?”

“Some borrowed from their originals. Others created specifically for them.”

“Are there more of them?” Ollie asks.

“No,” Seymour answers quickly and definitively. “Only the three you met. Clones of Tessa Leroy, Jake Choate, and Archer de Leon. Actually, that’s not entirely true. There was a fourth.” Seymour fiddles with his glasses again. “The clone who died in your place, Oliver,” he says, turning to address Ollie. “He was also a Duplicate. The very first one we created.”

We take this in. It suddenly makes so much sense that I don’t know how I didn’t think about it before, or wonder who that boy was. I feel a deep pang of anguish for him as I consider how he was created—as a literal science experiment—and how little regard Gravelle had for his life, taking it just like that.

“That boy’s death was unconscionable,” Seymour adds, clasping his hands together. “A cautionary tale, of how science can be so drastically, and dramatically, misused, in the name of progress. I will regret his death for the rest of my days.” Seymour is looking down at his shoes, and I wonder if it’s because he’s close to tears. “The only consolation of that entire debacle is the fact that he felt no pain when he died. And he had very few—if any—life experiences or memories.”

“So that makes his life expendable?” Ollie speaks up. He’s agitated, I can tell. And angry. This is, after all, his biological uncle. The boy who died was Oliver’s clone. I reach out to grab his hand.

“Absolutely not,” Seymour says, finally meeting his nephew’s eyes. “If anything, that tragedy taught us something we should have known already. That the technology is far too risky to use in any large-scale way. The Duplicates are like children. Inexperienced. Reckless. As you saw, the three who came here never should have been left unsupervised.”

“Then why were they?” Pru asks.

“I honestly don’t know.” Seymour sighs. “But I can assure you, it must have been by mistake. My brother and I—”

“Your brother, our guardian, has a warped view of the world,” Maude interjects. “Don’t tell me you agree with his methods. Or his madness.”