Anna’s smile faltered. “Surely you’re familiar with the sequence of events. Haven’t you been briefed on the operational flow of the Version 3.0 beta test?”

“I’m supposed to Friend you and then Aunt Dita goes free.”

Anna dropped her hand and looked at Tan Martin. She mouthed the words Aunt Dita?

Tan Martin shrugged and glanced back and forth between the two of them before finally saying to Mistletoe, “I apologize for any confusion my counterpart has created on your end. Now, please commence your Friendship.”

“If you don’t tell me what you’ve done with them, I swear I’m outta here.”

Tan Martin looked at her quizzically. “You’ve practically fulfilled your purpose. Why come all this way if you’re not going to Friend yourself?”

“I don’t even like myself that much.”

Anna said, “You do know who we are—I mean, you and I—right?”

Mistletoe ignored the girl and studied the office. The shelves were cherrywood rather than glass. And instead of framed images, they held wiry metal sculptures of birds.

“What is this place?”

Every part of Mistletoe screamed GET OUT. The sudden pileup of things she didn’t understand was making her light-headed. But she had used her last login capsule. If she shimmered out now, Ambrose might be gone forever.

“We’re the same,” Anna said. Her eager smile made Mistletoe want to slap her. “On the genetic level, there’s an equal part of me in you, and you in me. We’re counterparts. Genetic equivalents. Hybrid twins.” She brightened the smile. “Whatever you like.”

“You work for this guy?” Mistletoe asked, poking her thumb at Tan Martin.

“Creator-Director Truax?” Anna said, puzzled. “Of course.”

“Then I’m nothing like you.”

“Our DNA indicates otherwise.”

Mistletoe felt feverish, covered in a slimy layer of sweat. She was in a nightmare. Somehow Ambrose’s mind sickness had infected her, and she was hallucinating. Without really thinking about it, she brought her hands up to the sides of her head and held her palms an inch from her temples.

Escape.

“Anna, Friend her now!” Tan Martin yelled, vaulting over the desk. The office plant unfurled a leafy vine toward her ankles. Anna looked frightened and confused.

Mistletoe thought of the yellow scarf choking the life out of Aunt Dita. It isn’t real, she told herself. Ambrose is right. Besides, Tan Martin didn’t even know what she was talking about. She had to shimmer out, or she would lose what was left of her mind.

Tan Martin loomed above her, a look of fierce desperation on his chubby, artificially boyish face. He reached for her wrists just as she slapped her palms against her temples, closing the logout circuit.

The room receded to a single distant point.

Her mouth tasted warm and coppery, like a pre-Unison coin.