She opened her eyes. It was dark inside Magnus and Ivor’s wire trunk. The floor was much more comfortable than she remembered. She sat for a moment, thankful to be back in the subcanopy reality she understood. Then she coughed up a thick gob of phlegm.

If she ever saw Deirdre O’Hanlon again, she’d be sure to tell her she agreed with Pyotr: they were better off without Unison. The greatest social network in history was simply an endless cycle of confusion and frustration. She had tried to do what Martin had asked of her to save Dita, but then Dita was gone and Martin was different and he had no idea what she was talking about. What was the point of it all?

She decided she would grab Nelson and hit the streets. She would go back to Aunt Dita’s bombed-out house and poke around for evidence. Then maybe she could determine if Martin really had kidnapped her or if she was simply gone.

Ambrose would just have to help himself until she could figure out another way to log back in. Maybe Sliv knew someone who could hardcode her palms.

As she stood up, a pleasant white glow illuminated her surroundings. The wire trunk was gone. And the brothers’ underground lab had become the living room of a posh topside apartment. Her anger flared, sudden and hot.

“I’m still in friending Unison!” she screamed.

“I recognize the keywords but not the command,” the room replied in a soothing, gender-neutral voice. “Please rephrase or authorize a thought scan to determine your intent.”

“Kill yourself,” Mistletoe said.

“Going offline,” the room said. “Good-bye, Anna. Have a pleasant day.”

Mistletoe made a fist and looked around for something to punch. A circular table in the center of the room projected an enormous externalized image of Tan Martin with his arms around the shoulders of Mistletoe’s corporate twin and a boy who looked like a taller, more beautiful version of Ambrose, with high, almost feminine cheekbones.

“Wait!” Mistletoe said. “Where am I?”

“Your designated UniCorp living space,” the room said. “Apartment 1763X on the ninety-eighth floor of a four-star luxury atmoscraper purchased by Creator-Director Truax and repurposed for upper management.”

“So I’m not in Unison?”

“You returned from Unison exactly two minutes and forty-one seconds ago.”