Leaving her, I stripped and washed myself in the makeshift shower, wishing I had cold water instead of the lukewarm spray that pattered over me. Every muscle shook as I soaped myself, before drying off and pulling on some shorts. The front door could be activated by my voice alone, but I took no chances and rummaged through the green metal desk, finding the key that I needed. I locked us in, then slipped the key on a string and tied it around my neck.

I didn’t even look in on the you girl again before crashing onto the worn sofa in the main room, falling immediately into an exhausted sleep.

•  •  •

Something prickled my consciousness awake; it wasn’t the brightness of day. My eyes snapped open to find the you girl peering at me, her bowl head not an inch away from my nose. I glimpsed her face for the first time. She’d had little work done that I could see: eyes halfway between almond-shaped and slender, a rounded nose, and a full mouth. Her eyes were a light brown, like the watered-down coffee I’d buy with fake cream. Her fingers were extended tentatively above my throat. The back of her hand was bruised where I had jabbed her with the needle. She jumped back when she saw that I had woken. I looked down and remembered the key, then cursed myself for not putting on any clothes the previous night.

“It was only a precaution,” I said, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat and sat up. “You wouldn’t have been able to get out even if you’d gotten it.”

She stood over me, appearing even leaner in the daylight, all long lines and sharp angles.

“The back door’s blocked,” she said in perfect, educated Mandarin.

Her voice surprised me. Rich, like dark chocolate—more womanly than she looked.

“Mudslide,” I said.

She nodded and drew her other hand from behind her back, revealing a pair of dull scissors I kept in the desk. “I could have killed you in your sleep.”

“You would have had to try hard.” I rose, reaching for a clean shirt draped over the back of a wooden chair. It was black, like most of my clothes. “Those scissors are from another century.” I pulled on the shirt, then some blue jeans, and scrubbed a hand through my dyed blond hair, suddenly self-conscious. I had taken off my mask the night before, assuming I would wake up before she did. Now it was pointless, but seeing each other face-to-face like this felt odd. We’d become a society that barely showed our faces to strangers anymore.

Now what?

We stared at each other for a long moment. If she were a feline, her tail would be thrashing.

“How much do you want?” she asked.