“What the hell is that?” Tai asks, clutching her phone to her chest. Outside the car window, a large, bearded man in gray runs out of the woods and toward us, another six-foot figure in a neon vest and beanie stock-still behind him.

“Misses Hammick! Fítsím!” the running man shouts at the car window. He stops running, his hands falling to his knees as he catches his breath.

Tai shrinks back, but I see it now: the security guard uniform, complete with badge and radio. He looks like he’s fiftysomething—and local, on account of his Viloki greeting.

“Misses Hammick, your uncle sent me to man the gate. I’m Tomí,” he says, extending a machine-oil-coated hand through the open window, which I take in mine, relieved.

His skin is warm and rough and greasy to the touch. He looks tired, and the reddish blooms by his nose make me think he’s a heavy drinker. I wonder how long he’s been here.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t by the gate when you arrived—the security system was acting up,” he says, pointing at the man in the beanie behind him.

My stomach lurches as I realize—

The figure is stiff. And when I squint, I see it has no nose or mouth: just a flesh-colored plastic mask. Its eyes dilate strangely, zooming in and out, as I stare back at it.

“It’s … a mannequin?” I ask.

“It’s state of the art,” Tomí corrects. “One of Clouded Cage’s new surveillance machines that uses facial recognition technology. You girls can rest easy, Misses Hammick, with the two of us here, and Mina inside,” he adds, pulling up his sagging pants. I smell sweat and cigarettes and stale booze. Dad couldn’t stand drinkers: He even frowned and batted Mama away when she’d had too much wine.

“Is Mina your wife? Do you both live around here?” I ask, as Tai sighs quietly next to me—frustrated, I guess, that I’m prolonging the chat with our sole living security guard.

But Tomí chuckles. “No, no. You haven’t met Mina? I thought she’d been here for years. You’ll see—she’s gone to great pains to get the house ready for you.” He leans closer and waves at Tai to catch her attention. “Hi, Miss Hammick Number Two. I hope you had a good journey?”

She looks up from her phone and smiles after a beat. It reads genuine, even though I’m sure it’s not. Tai has never been referred to as Number Two in her life.

“A long one,” she replies. “Thank you for the good wishes.”

Tomí’s cheeks burn. He nods awkwardly and pats the car door, as if urging us along. “Sorry to keep you!” And he hustles back into the forest dark, where the motionless robot watches and waits.