Park’s uncle returned to New Diego a month before Park was scheduled to leave for university. She came home from school one day to find him sitting in the kitchen, drinking the last of her synthetic coffee. Glenn, walking in front of her, paused in the doorway at the sight of him, as if to block Park from view.

Park’s uncle hardly looked at him—instead focused his regard on what little he could see of Park’s face, flatly staring at him from over Glenn’s shoulder.

“Grace,” he said. “Welcome home.”

That’s my line, Park thought—though she felt neither welcoming nor like it was his home. It had been two years since she’d seen him last, though he had called diligently on birthdays and holidays. She put her hand on Glenn’s arm to move him aside, but suddenly he was like a granite statue: he wouldn’t budge.

“Glenn, let my niece into the apartment,” Park’s uncle said, sharply, as if addressing a misbehaving dog. Park expected Glenn to bristle, but he merely said coolly, “Of course,” and moved aside. But he still lingered by Park’s side.

She wondered, briefly, what he was so afraid of. Glenn always seemed different around her uncle: stiff, unnatural, diffident. There wasn’t that spark of Glenness when her uncle was home—as if Glenn had retreated into the shell of himself, leaving behind only a basic template to interface with. He acted as if, at any moment, her uncle might take too much notice of him. Might decide to shut him down. Self-preservation protocols, Park decided. The hare lies still when the wolfox is around. Even robots knew that.

“You didn’t give notice that you’d be home,” she said, still by the door.

Her uncle barked out a short laugh. “Gave notice,” he echoed. “Are you the landlord here? Or my boss?”

She said nothing. Glenn said, his voice just above a murmur: “You are not well.”

They both looked at him; for a moment Park thought he was talking to her. Then she looked more closely at her uncle. Did he look a little sick? Was his skin looser, did he always have those dark smudges under his eyes? Or were those simply signs of advancing age? Guilt couldn’t stop a little chill from crawling up her back. Was it contagious?

“Health and biometric analysis should be confidential,” Park’s uncle told Glenn reproachfully. “You should know that.”

Glenn inclined his head. “Of course,” he said. “My apologies.” Then, after a moment: “Since you are blood relatives and she is an emergency contact, I thought—”

“I’m not interested in how your logic algorithms parsed it out,” Park’s uncle said. “You should know that, too.” He scratched his nose. “Anyway, you’re right. I am sick.” Then he looked wryly at Park. “It’s not contagious.”