Fear trips the alarms in my head.

What’s happening? I ask Emmaline. Where are we?

The dregs of a gentle warmth become a searing heat that blazes up my arms. Goose bumps rise along my skin.

Emmaline is afraid.

Show me where we are, I say.

It takes longer than I’m used to, but very slowly Emmaline fills my head with images of my room, of steel walls and glittering glass, long tables laid out with all manner of tools and blades, surgical equipment. Microscopes as tall as the wall. Geometric patterns in the ceiling glow with warm, bright light. And then there’s me.

I am mummified in metal.

I’m lying supine on a gleaming table, thick horizontal stripes holding me in place. I am naked but for the carefully placed restraints keeping me from full exposure.

Realization dawns with painful speed.

I recognize these rooms, these tools, these walls. Even the smell—stale air, synthetic lemon, bleach and rust. Dread creeps through me slowly at first, and then all at once.

I am back on base in Oceania.

I feel suddenly ill.

I am a world away. An international flight away from my chosen family, back again in the house of horrors I grew up in. I have no recollection of how I got here, and I don’t know what devastation Anderson left in my wake. I don’t know where my friends are. I don’t know what’s become of Warner. I can’t remember anything useful. I only know that something must be terribly, terribly wrong.

Even so, my fear feels different.

My captors—Anderson? This woman?—have obviously done something to me, because I can’t feel my powers the way I normally do, but there’s something about this horrible, familiar pattern that’s almost comforting. I’ve woken up in chains more times than I can remember, and every time, I’ve found my way out. I’ll find my way out of this, too.

And at least this time, I’m not alone.

Emmaline is here. As far as I’m aware, Anderson has no idea she’s with me, and it gives me hope.

The silence is broken by a long-suffering sigh.

“Why do we need her to be awake, anyway?” the woman says. “Why can’t we perform the procedure while she’s asleep?”

“They’re not my rules, Tatiana. You know as well as I do that Evie set this all in motion. Protocol states that the subject must be awake when the transfer is initiated.”

I take it back.

I take it back.

Pure, unadulterated terror spikes through me, dispelling my earlier confidence with a single blow. It should’ve occurred to me right away that they’d try to do to me what Evie didn’t get right the first time. Of course they would.

My sudden panic nearly gives me away.

“Two daughters with the exact same DNA fingerprint,” Tatiana says suddenly. “Anyone else would think it was a wild coincidence. But Evie was always careful about having a backup plan, wasn’t she?”

“From the very beginning,” Anderson says quietly. “She made sure there was a spare.”

The words are a blow I couldn’t have anticipated.

A spare.

That’s all I ever was, I realize. A spare part kept in captivity. A backup weapon in the case that all else failed.

Shatter me.

Break glass in case of emergency.

It takes everything I’ve got to remain still, to fight back the urge to swallow the sudden swell of emotion in my throat. Even now, even from the grave, my mother manages to wound me.

“How lucky for us,” the woman says.

“Indeed,” Anderson says, but there’s tension in his voice. Tension I’m only just beginning to notice.

Tatiana starts rambling.

She begins talking about how clever Evie was to realize that someone had interfered with her work, how clever she was to have realized right away that Emmaline was the one who’d tampered with the results of the procedure she’d performed on me. Evie always knew, Tatiana is saying, that there was a risk in bringing me back to base in Oceania—and the risk, she says, was Emmaline’s physical closeness.

“After all,” Tatiana says, “the two girls hadn’t been in such close proximity in nearly a decade. Evie was worried Emmaline would try to make contact with her sister.” A pause. “And she did.”

“What is your point?”

“My point,” Tatiana says slowly, like she’s talking to a child, “is that this seems dangerous. Don’t you think it’s more than a little unwise to put the two girls under the same roof again? After what happened last time? Doesn’t this seem a little . . . reckless?”

Stupid hope blooms in my chest.

Of course.

Emmaline’s body is nearby. Maybe Emmaline’s voice disappearing from my mind has nothing to do with her impending death—maybe she feels farther away simply because she moved. It’s possible that upon reentry to Oceania the two parts of her consciousness reconnected. Maybe Emmaline feels distant now only because she’s reaching out to me from her tank—the way she did the last time I was here.

Sharp, searing heat flashes behind my eyes, and my heart leaps at her response.

I am not alone, I say to her. You are not alone.

“You know as well as I do that this was the only way,” Anderson says to Tatiana. “I needed Max’s help. My injuries were too serious.”

“You seem to be needing Max’s help quite a lot these days,” she says coldly. “And I’m not the only one who thinks your needs are becoming liabilities.”

“Don’t push me,” he says quietly. “This isn’t the day.”

“I don’t care. You know as well as I do that it would’ve been safer to initiate this transfer back at Sector 45, thousands of miles away from Emmaline. We had to transport the boy, too, remember? Extremely inconvenient. That you so desperately needed Max to assist with your vanity is an altogether different issue, one that concerns both your failings and your ineptitude.”

Silence falls, heavy and thick.

I have no idea what’s happening above my head, but I can only imagine the two of them are glaring each other into the ground.

“Evie had a soft spot for you,” Tatiana says finally. “We all know that. We all know how willing she was to overlook your mistakes. But Evie is dead now, isn’t she? And her daughter would be two for two if it weren’t for Max’s constant efforts to keep you alive. The rest of us are running out of patience.”

Before Anderson has a chance to respond, a door slams open.

“Well?” A new voice. “Is it done?”

For the first time, Tatiana seems subdued. “She’s not yet awake, I’m afraid.”

“Then wake her up,” the voice demands. “We’re out of time. All the children have been tainted. We still have to get the rest of them under control and clear their minds as soon as possible.”

“But not before we figure out what they know,” Anderson says quickly, “and who they might’ve told.”

Heavy footsteps move into the room, fast and hard. I hear a rustle of movement, a sudden brief gasp. “Haider told me something interesting when your men dragged him back here,” the man says quietly. “He says you shot my daughter.”

“It was a practical decision,” Anderson says. “She and Kishimoto were possible targets. I had no choice but to take them both out.”