Deirdre nodded. Then, reluctantly, she coaxed out a careful sentence: “I think … I think he came to see me.”

Mistletoe had to stop herself from grabbing Deirdre by the shoulders. “He was here?”

“No.” She began to make nervous, twisting finger sculptures with her hands. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. I’ve never told anyone. In Unison, I switch between a few different IDs, but I use a specific one for my business. A teenager, a girl, like you. Application industry people let down their guard if they think they’re dealing with someone young and naive. And it’s just … nice to be a girl again, for a little while.

“Anyway, one of my gamer contacts brought me a new user named Adam Trevor with some pretty heavy questions. He’s into furniture design and singing pop songs.”

“That’s not him. I told you, his name’s Ambrose. And all he cares about is his dumb job.”

She put up a hand. “That’s my point: it was obvious he wasn’t who he said he was. Fake login, fake Profile, just like mine. And he was chasing intel on Unison 3.0.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“Nowhere. He freaked out. His Thoughtstream hurt, like it had been overloaded with a million new Friends at once. And the look on his face—it was like he was stuck in a nightmare. It was enough to convince me to stay out for a while. Let the upgrade sort itself out, let Martin do whatever he’s going to do. I’ll go back when it stabilizes.”

“But Ambrose needs help.”

“What am I supposed to do? I’m an ESCU professor now. I have a life up here.”

“So get me logged in.”

“You want to help him? The best thing you can do is disappear. Leave the city and stay out of Unison.”

“If I run away and he dies, then I’ll be—” She caught herself.

“Finish it.”

“Never mind.”

Deirdre’s voice was coated in ice. “Finish what you were going to say.”

Mistletoe put her hands on her hips. “If I run away and he dies, I’ll be just like you, talking about the things I should’ve done when I had the chance.”

Deirdre’s mouth quivered once. She nodded almost imperceptibly, then turned in her chair and slid her palm along the blank wall beside her. A rectangular panel slid open to reveal several orange jars. Deirdre selected one and unscrewed the cap. She pulled out a clear gelatin capsule the size of her thumb and tossed it to Mistletoe.

“What’s this?”

The capsule was teeming with life forms, tiny silver and black bugs that scuttled like minuscule versions of Sliv’s camera-insect.

“It’s an early prototype of a nonhardcoded login device I’m helping to develop.”

Mistletoe peered at the little bug colony. “Gross.”