“First time on TV and it’s a point-counterpoint, probably with someone who’s done this a million ti— Oh, Christ.”

Cora looked to see what Kaveh was oh-Christing, and saw that it was not a what but a who, in his chair for hair and makeup, daintily removing the bib that protected his custom tailored suit.

Jano fucking Miranda.

“Oh no,” said Cora. At that moment Miranda saw them and hopped off his stool to approach them. “Kaveh,” he said, reaching out for a handshake. “How’s it going?”

“Not bad, man,” said Kaveh, taking Miranda’s hand and shaking it vigorously. Miranda’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them in confusion.

“Are you doing the show?” asked Miranda.

“No, I’m moral support,” said Kaveh, gesturing to Cora.

“Oh, I see. So does that mean you’re Team Personhood?” He completely ignored Cora.

Kaveh shrugged. “You know me, ‘separate but equal’ doctrines always make me a little nervous.”

“I think that hardly applies when we’re dealing with nonhumans,” Miranda said with a slight chuckle, as if he were talking about his optimistic projections for the next quarterly report.

“Well, let’s just say she knows some things you don’t.”

“I figure.” The friendly tone wavered, and Miranda looked at her with a soupçon of venom. Then he smiled and shook her hand flaccidly as another producer in a headset came to collect him. “Well, this should be interesting! Certainly new territory for me. Looking forward to it!”

“So am I,” she lied.

“To the wolves,” Kaveh muttered once Miranda was out of earshot.

“How do you know him, anyway?”

He looked to her, his green eyes sparkling. “I know everybody.”

She sighed, and he clapped a hand on her shoulder before she went in for hair and makeup. “Listen, you’ll be fine. Just remember.” He leaned in and whispered in her ear, sending chills up her spine like a rolling ocean wave, “Never play defense.”

* * *

“Today, I am speaking with Jano Miranda, candidate for California’s Forty-Sixth Congressional District and proponent of the Third Option of nonhuman personhood, and Cora Sabino, formerly of . . .”

The host, Satomi, had a young Gwen Ifill vibe, more moderator than firebrand. There was a feed of Satomi in New York and Jano in another room in the same studio on a screen she could see, but it was the camera she had to keep her eyes on, which was already proving challenging. Don’t look away, she thought, over and over, remembering Kaveh’s instruction that doing so would make her look “shifty.”

“Cora is also the oldest daughter of Nils Ortega—”

God-fucking-damn it. Of course they would say that, it would be suspicious if they didn’t, but she felt kneecapped by it all the same.