“I like it the most, I think,” she said. She reached out, dragging fingers down the front of it. Prosthetic fingers, I had to remind myself—it was less a test of the softness of the fabric and more of a… I couldn’t be sure. “I don’t know. Would you wear it?”

“No,” I said.

“Never?”

“Probably not.”

“Okay then.”

“But I’m me,” I said. “I know what I like. I think you wouldn’t feel at home in your clothes if you borrowed my wardrobe for a day. This suits you, I think. Try it on?”

She tried on each of the coats in turn. I could see the indecision, but prodding wasn’t too successful in getting her to open up.

It didn’t help that she was as distracted as she was with the appearance of her arms and face.

“We’ll put it on hold, try another store, see what the high-end options look like,” I said.

That got me a nod, a small smile that I couldn’t read.

“Sweaters and scarves?” I asked.

The nod was more enthusiastic, this time.

“If I’m bossing you around, you can tell me to quit it.”

“I like you bossing me around,” she said. “I’m happy, even if I can’t seem to pick anything.”

“Good,” I said. “You hunt over here, I hunt over there?”

The hunt was easier when it came to sweaters. Looser so they would be easier to pull on, or layered, often long in the body, to the point that they reached the hips or qualified as dresses. She found an electric blue turtleneck she liked. Scarves allowed for more color and patterns.

The more clothes we found, the more I could see the reticence break. She was smiling, less caught up in the distraction of her hands and arms, and more focused on the hunt for clothes.

The winter coat somehow remained as a sticking point.

I tried on a couple of sweaters of my own while she changed in the next booth over.

“Ah,” I heard her.

“Problem?”

“Not a problem. I’m not sure there’s a word for this kind of disappointment and relief.”

“Uh?”

“Come in.”

I finished pulling off my sweater, meeting strange eyes in the mirror as I pushed the changing room door open, and visited Sveta in the next booth.

She was topless, sweater and the shirt beneath pulled free. The projected skin that draped over her arms, shoulders, neck, and collarbone extended down to the area that would be her cleavage. It stopped there, with a ‘v’ shaped wedge of flesh that terminated between two undefined metal breasts.

“On a level, I’m really relieved that Kenzie didn’t give me any details here—” she said, gesturing at that area. “That would be ten kinds of concerning and weird.”

“Agreed. Based on what she said, she could have left her computer to run and collect information.”