“Here we are, end of the line,” the driver said.

I handed him the cashcard tied to a fake identity and bank account Lingyi had set up. “Thanks,” I said. “Add five for tip.”

He smiled, the corners of his eyes creasing with deep lines, and saluted me. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.

I got out and lifted the girl from the seat, kicking the door shut with my foot. The driver blared his horn twice before tearing off. It was almost midnight, and I needed to be within Yangmingshan as soon as possible. The end of the bus line was near the mountain’s base. I shifted the girl so her head rested against my shoulder, her helmet smooth and cold against my cheek, and started my long climb home.

The half-moon was wan, obscured by clouds and pollution. The Vox on my wrist provided scant light, but I navigated the muddied roads without trouble, stopping twice to catch my breath. Each time I laid my captive down, setting her head on my thigh, not knowing how else to place her. She seemed inhuman encased in her glass helmet. Alien. The neon pink lines of her suit glowed in the dark, and her exposed, soft hands lay limp at her sides.

How had we drifted so far from what it meant to be human? I could remove her helmet, but it seemed too much of a violation. I smiled sardonically at the irony.

I rose, throwing the girl over my shoulder. She no longer felt light—it was like hauling an elephant, and my arms were dead weights. Finally, I spotted the outcropping of jagged stones marking where I should turn off the path. Darkness enveloped me as I picked my way between thick brush and massive trees. Three years ago, mudslides after a bad typhoon season were followed immediately by a massive earthquake that swallowed teahouses, roads, and homes alike. Half of Yangmingshan went up in flames. Survivors fled, and due to the economic depression and rumors of the mountain being cursed, no investors ever bothered to rebuild.

Now the once-scenic getaway was deserted, lush, and wild, its only occupants the dead in overturned graves. And me. If anyone else lived on Yangmingshan, our paths never crossed.

I counted my steps, legs trembling with the effort. Near my four hundredth, I spotted the first garden light, glowing like a flower spirit. I had planted them for the last fifty steps leading home. Each light was solar-powered. Sweat stung my eyes, but I was too close to stop. The heavy wooden door to the laboratory clicked open by my voice command, and I stumbled inside, laying the girl on the cot in the small office that served as my bedroom.

I slumped to the floor, arms draped over raised knees, and sat there until I caught my breath.