“Yeah, so they have someone to bug all the time,” she replies, dryly, but I can tell there’s a twinge of sadness there. I know she’s missing them, although it would take a lot of arm-twisting before she would ever admit it.

Mr. Baird places his hand on his Halo, and his face turns pale.

“What is it?”

“We have to hurry,” he says. He rushes out of the car, not even waiting for us to follow. Zora and I exchange a look, then scramble out of the car after him.

Mr. Baird looks over his shoulder as he jogs up the stairs. “Eric Smith has pushed up the announcement. It’s all over the news.”

“What?” I cry out. “But you said we were able to stop him from going ahead?”

“Lake Washington is so remote, it takes time for the authorities to check out our information and to get up there.”

We’re swiped through the building security quickly and taken through to a huge open-plan cafeteria space, with long rows of benches and tables, all very metallic and clean. A few eyes turn toward us as we enter, eyebrows raising, but most people are focused on a screen at the far end of the room.

Mr. Baird ushers us toward one of the tables, facing the projection, which covers almost the entire back wall. It’s more than an ordinary projector screen, of course. BRIGHTSPRK have such a different ethos to Moncha Corp: everything is slick and modern, not focused on comfort but on design. Moncha was one woman’s vision, whereas BRIGHTSPRK has cycled through many different owners and leaders. Still, I wonder now which one is the right direction. With only one person at the top, once that one person is corrupt, there’s no fail-safe. At least BRIGHTSPRK seem as intent on keeping their house clean as they are their products.

Projected from the Halos, the image on screen is crystal clear. It’s almost like we’re live at the convention after all.

Even the buzz from the crowd inside the Washington cottage is perfectly audible. The baku cameras (most common are doves) are trained on the crowd, flying around to show off all the important people who are there. My heart twists as I spot Tobias standing to one side with his parents. His dad has his hand on one shoulder, and Nathan is at his side, beaming.

I hope that’s the outcome Tobias wanted. Even though I wish he’d stood by me, can I blame him for wanting to be accepted by his family?

“Even after knowing what they’ve done to your mom and dad…” mutters Zora beside me. Clearly she hasn’t forgiven him.

I lean into her, appreciating her support.

Then, the atmosphere in both rooms changes. Something is happening onstage.