And he knows about Kara too. Nice job, Father Andre. You didn’t overlook a single garish detail. “Yes. Almost anyone,” I answer. If he thinks that little push will rattle me, he’s wrong. I don’t miss a beat and go on point by point so he can see just how sane and in control I am. I tell them about the environments where our minds were uploaded, and the BioPerfect that Gatsbro developed. “He gave us a second chance and new bodies that were near exact replicas of our originals, but it came with a catch—we were prisoners on his estate. He used us as floor models to show off his illegal technology to potential customers. When we found out what he was keeping us there for, we ran.”

So there you have it, Carver and illustrious Team. Deal with it. I have a body created in a lab. Eighty percent bioengineered human, twenty percent composites, one hundred percent illegal.

“You said ‘near exact.’ Tell us about the changes.”

With a brief scan, I can see the anticipation in all their faces. I’m a curiosity. Something they’ve never seen before. “Gatsbro was a stickler for detail. He even managed to engineer our tissue with our saved DNA so we would retain our original identity. That’s how I knew the changes weren’t an accident. I’m four inches taller now. A lot stronger. Green flecks in my eyes. No cowlick. Straighter teeth. Gatsbro made improvements to help sell his product. But there were some things he didn’t plan on. That’s the wonder of experimental technology. The BioPerfect created some changes he didn’t calculate.” I lean forward, resting my arms on the table. “I can read lips—from very long distances. I never could do that before. That’s how I nailed a cheat back in California.”

Livvy and Jake exchange glances, probably making mental notes to guard their lips carefully.

“I’m also learning to read faces.”

“Meaning?” Carver asks.

“When I concentrate, I can dissect a face into multiple planes. Emotions stand out the most, usually the ones we try to hide. Fear, anger, hatred.” And also things like blatant lies and exaggerations. I glance at Xavier. “I don’t always get it, but I know when I see something that isn’t quite right.”

“That might be useful,” Livvy says.

Carver nods. “Are you concentrating now?”

I look at his face. Hunger. Need. Hope. I shake my head. “No.”

“Any other changes?”

I think of my lapses. He said to share every detail, but I haven’t had a lapse in several weeks. Maybe I’m over that. What about my sensitivity to pain? Is that really a wise thing to share? Gatsbro used it to control me. Or that I heal quickly? In less than a quarter of the time it might usually take? Would knowing this allow them to take greater chances with me? If I’m going to risk life and limb, I don’t want the odds stacked against me. I decide to stick to something that Xavier has already witnessed.

I sit back in my chair. “I can see in the dark—if I push myself. Not a lot, but dim outlines, enough to find my way. When we were coming down the stairs I could see Jake ready to bust in our brains long before Xavier did.”

Carver raises his brows. This piece of information transforms his face.

“But I don’t like the dark,” I add. “I don’t want to spend a lot of time in dark places.”

“You’re afraid of the dark?” Mr. F asks.

I make no apologies to anyone about my fear of the dark. When you’ve spent 260 years in a black hole with no sound, touch, or light, you have a whole new understanding of what darkness can mean. “Yeah, Xavier. You got a problem with that?”

“I got all kinds of problems, kid, and that’s the least of them. Cool your heels.” His eyes are locked on mine, neither of us ready to back down.

Carver stands and walks in the shadows like he’s trying to divert our attention. “What about this woman named Miesha?” he asks. “I understand she helped you get away from Gatsbro. What do you know about her?”

“She’s tough—at least that’s the act she puts on. She’s had a hard life. She spent some time in prison. Turns out she’s my niece. Sort of. About eight generations removed. I guess technically, I’m not related to her any more than I am to anyone else, but it’s all I’ve got.”

“Trust her?”

“With my life.”

“She was part of a Resistance movement, wasn’t she?”

Knowing about me is one thing, but I’m surprised he knows so much about Miesha. “Was,” I answer cautiously. “Her husband and daughter died because of it and that’s when she quit.”

The others have fallen silent. Carver seems to be in control of where we’re going. I watch him continue to pace in the shadows. “How did they die?” he asks.

“Burned. Their house was torched by Security while she was away at a market.”

“Horrible. Did she identify the bodies?”

“No. She was arrested the minute she returned to the house. That’s when she went to prison. She was in for eleven years.”

There’s a long silence. I wait for someone to speak, but they all seem to be weighing this information.

“Is that what this is about?” I finally ask. “Are you part of the Resistance?”

Carver keeps his face in the shadows, like he doesn’t want to betray his expressions, but I note the hesitation in his step. “There’s no Resistance movement anymore,” he says.