I don’t share in their enthusiasm. As I make my way down the spiral stairs of the Tower Room, Levi catches up to me, grabbing my hand in the darkened hallway and pulling me close. It’s torture being mere inches from him and not acting on it. But I can’t. He lied to me. That hasn’t changed.
“Have you ever…you know,” he says, his voice husky. “Read my thoughts?”
“No,” I say quietly. For a second, we’re so focused on each other—our breathing, our silent acknowledgment of how much we want this, whatever this is…
“If you did,” Levi says, “you’d know how truly sorry I am. For everything.”
He drops my hand and moves off down the hallway, stuffing his fists in his jeans pockets. I watch him go, wishing I’d stopped him.
That night, I dream about this skill of mine, this ability to see into others’ minds, now on command. I imagine why Gravelle spoke of it over the years, even expressed his fury that I’d gotten away. What would he have forced me to do, had I grown up on Castor Island with the other Similars and not left at the age of three? In the dream, I’m still a young child, maybe five or six. I’m reading the thoughts of everyone I encounter. Famous people. World leaders. In a cold, white room, not unlike the one where I was imprisoned on his island, I am questioned by Gravelle. I’m hooked up to a polygraph machine that shoots out page after page of red squiggles. Suddenly, Gravelle’s face clouds over in rage, and he shoots to his feet, interpreting one of the printouts and accusing me of lying.
I wake up in a sweat, terror seizing me. It only subsides when I realize I’m in my bed, in my room at Darkwood. Pru is asleep in the bed next to mine, her dark form rising and falling minutely, but enough for me to see her breathing. I unclench my fingers, considering for the millionth time how differently my life would have played out had I stayed on the compound with the others. Gravelle plucked me from the only home I knew before I was old enough to form strong bonds with the place—and with the Similars. Though I wonder, now, if subconsciously, I always knew we were connected, even last year when they first arrived at Darkwood. Is that why I felt so pulled to them? So curious to learn everything about them? Because somewhere, deep down, I knew they had once been my family?
Maude and I spend the morning together in the library, going over everything she learned about the stealth virus over the holiday break. She’s managed to reverse engineer it—a feat in itself—and she’s done it by remotely logging into Gravelle’s server on Castor Island.
“The good news is, I know how the virus works,” Maude tells me. “The bad news is, Gravelle is not bluffing. The virus is real, and it took out Ransom.”
“Could you turn it off?” I ask. “Is that a dumb question?”
“No. Not dumb. Yes, it can be shut down. But not remotely.” Maude sighs.
“I’ll never stop being impressed by you,” I tell her.
“I’m not the one who can read thoughts,” she quips.
I blanch. That’s definitely not something I’m proud of, and I tell her as much.
“Emma, you need to stop viewing this as a burden and see it the way I do. It’s a gift.” Her tone is probably harsher than she means it to sound. Or maybe it’s intentional. Maude isn’t one to mince words. “I meant what I said yesterday. If you can harness it, use it for good… Emma, I don’t want to scare you,” she says, her tone changing. She sounds less certain now. More hesitant.
“Maybe don’t, then?” I crack a smile.
“I’ve been going over and over this Legacy Project of Gravelle’s, trying to get one step ahead of him and figure out what his endgame is. I can’t,” she says. “What does it mean that he wants us getting closer to our DNA families? I refuse to take Gravelle’s words at face value, that our tasks are simply part of our birthright. There has got to be something we’re missing. I’m sure of it.”
“And you’re afraid we’re not going to figure it out until it’s too late,” I conclude.
She nods. “Please, practice that mind reading. If you can learn to do it on command… We may need it, Emma. And you.”
Maude’s words haunt me till lunchtime, when I walk into the dining hall. She’s right. I’ve been acting like a brat about this talent of mine, when, in truth, it could prove so useful. What was I thinking? Wouldn’t most people kill to be able to see inside others’ heads?
That thought sends a shiver up and down my spine, and I wish I hadn’t gone there. Considering what a government might do to get its hands on this ability…on me… I feel sick at the thought of Harlowe having this intimate knowledge of what I’m capable of. How she might try to use it against me. To hurt me or my friends—or worse.
I’ll simply have to stay one step ahead of her.
As I thread my way through the dining hall tables, I try to open my mind to the thoughts around me. I focus on a first-year girl in chunky glasses, willing myself to hear what’s in her head.
—going to fail out of trig and my dad’s going to kill me—
I turn away from her, staring at a boy at the next table.
—can never tell him that I love him, can I? I mean he has no idea, no clue at all—
And finally, I walk over to a crowded table of second years and laser in on a heavily tattooed student in suspenders.
—is it weird that I kind of want new friends? Is it too late for me to get new friends—
I shake off that last thought and walk away, willing myself to forget any personal details I’ve picked up about my classmates. That’s not the point; I’d never look inside someone’s head to learn gossip about them. It was purely a practice session. And I aced it.
I don’t know whether to be happy I’ve begun honing my skill, to use Maude’s words, or terrified of what it means.
All I want right now is to curl up next to Ollie and not think—about anything. I buzz him, asking him to meet me for part two of our movie marathon.
He’s standing outside my door when I return to my room, and he’s wielding a cafeteria tray loaded with our favorite snacks. I don’t ask him where he got all that junk food—clearly not the dining hall. Wordlessly, I open my door, pull out my tablet, and start the movie.
We relax on my twin bed, and I think back to yesterday, and how this felt so safe and normal. And yet—something feels wrong. Off. It’s the kiss, I remind myself. You hurt him, Emma. It’s going to take time for him to heal. You rejected him. Didn’t you?
“Ollie?” I nudge his foot with my own.
“Yep?” he asks, chewing on a Snickers bar.
I hit pause on the movie, then pull my knees up to my chest. “We promised no more secrets between us, right?”
He turns to look at me, his face earnest, and in that moment, I feel so much love for him, as my best friend on the planet, it hurts, like an ache in my chest.
“I can read people’s thoughts. Or hear them, I guess. It’s a mental agility thing. Something that was programmed into my DNA before I was born. It’s been happening since the beginning of the school year. The night of the hazing was the first time. It’s like the person’s talking directly in my ear. At first it would happen without me being able to control it. Without me even wanting it. I heard your thoughts, the night of the dance,” I add, my heart pounding. “That’s how I knew about your feelings for me. And you’re right, I tried to stop you from telling me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept that from you. I shouldn’t have kept so many things from you. But that stops now. I swear.”
Ollie sets down his candy-bar wrapper, looking like he’s trying to process what I just told him.
“Em—who knows about this? Who else, I mean?”
“The Similars. And…” I hesitate, not sure if I should tell him the rest. But I just promised him no more secrets, didn’t I? “And Harlowe,” I whisper. “Or, she suspects, anyway. I don’t know if she’s put it all together, but knowing her, she will. It happened by acci
dent. I never would have wanted her to find out.”
“We should tell my mom,” Ollie says. “If this could put you in danger…”
“It won’t,” I insist, even though I’m not convinced of that, not at all.
“You might need heightened security. My mom could arrange that—”
“Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves? I’ve barely figured out how this skill of mine works. What it all means…”
Ollie combs his hands through the hair at his temples, looking frayed. “I’m worried, Emma. Things are happening so quickly.”
“It will all be okay. As long as we’re okay. Right?”
But Ollie doesn’t answer me. He’s jumped up from the bed and is stuffing his feet in his sneakers.
“I almost forgot. There’s something I have to take care of. I’ll see you at dinner. Okay?”
“But Ollie, wait.” I feel flustered, and anxiety creeps up in my chest. He’s running off again, so abruptly? “We are okay, aren’t we? I mean, I know you’re probably hurt and maybe even mad at me, and rightly so, but we should—” I don’t even get to say “talk.” He’s already out the door.
It only takes me a moment to decide I’m not letting him leave here again so quickly. Not when there’s been so much left unsaid between us. I slip on my boots and race out of my room. Ollie’s at the end of the hall, hurrying toward the exit. I follow him.
“Ollie!” I shout, racing in his direction. “That’s the second time in a row you’ve left my room like you had somewhere a lot better to be! Stop! We need to talk. You’re the one who said it, before break. And maybe you’ve changed your mind, but you were right. I’m not letting you brush me off. Not again!”
But Ollie’s not turning around. He’s quickening his pace, and I chase after him, my mind churning. Why isn’t he stopping? Why is he running away from me?
I’ve followed him all the way to Nightshade now. Ollie stops in front of the double doors, taking his key from around his neck and scanning it in front of the door. It buzzes, opening for him. But another kid in his dorm—a kid I recognize but don’t personally know—stops him.
“Ollie! I was looking for you,” the kid says brightly. “I had this calculus question—”
“Can we talk later? I’m kind of busy right now,” Ollie answers, exasperated but trying not to be rude. The delay gives me my opportunity. I lunge up the steps to where Ollie stands and plant myself in the doorway, so he can’t get past me.
“Ollie! What the hell is going on?” I demand. “Why are you running from me? I know you’re angry, but talk to me, for God’s sake!”
Focus. Ignore her. Send the buzz. You have to.
I blink, unsure at first what’s happening. Then I know. I’m hearing Ollie’s voice in my head. Talking to me in that familiar, quiet way that sounds far off, but also like he’s speaking right in my ear.
It’s all right. Even if she reads your thoughts, she won’t know. Just do it, now, before you lose your window. You only have five minutes.
Window? What window? And what does Ollie mean, five minutes? I look down at my plum. It’s 4:00 p.m. I can’t make all this compute. I have no idea what these thoughts of his mean. They’re just empty words. A jumble.
Give the report. Everything’s fine. No one suspects… Make your mind a blank. Even if she reads it, there’s nothing there. Nothing she’ll understand.
I’m so confused I can’t even speak. All I’m trying to do is make sense of these thoughts in Ollie’s head, coming at me in a stream of consciousness. The weirdest part is, they don’t sound like him. They don’t sound like him at all.
Ollie’s typing, rapid-fire, on his plum. I’m simply watching, confused and mildly terrified.
“Ollie?” I whisper, my voice sounding as hollow as I feel. “What’s going on?”
But he’s still ignoring me. Typing faster and faster.
Eden has no idea. None of them do. Everything you’ve planned is prepped. Airtight.
Everything who’s planned? What’s he talking about? What’s airtight?
Installation went off without a hitch. She’ll never check the time stamp on my wrist with an infrared light. She’d never even know what that means. I’m safe. She won’t understand.
I still don’t know what’s happening, but a distinct feeling of dread is filling me. What is Ollie talking about? Infrared light?
This is 002.04, sending this message to Pollux. Signing off now. Goodbye.
Ollie stops typing and pockets his plum. He turns and looks at me, recognition dawning on his face. It’s like he finally sees me. Me, Emma, for the first time since I chased him down.
“Hey!” he grins at me. “Ready to finish our movie marathon?”
I have never been so frightened of Ollie’s smile in my life. I don’t answer—I don’t breathe a word—I simply turn and run.
I’m racing from Nightshade as fast as I can, my mind churning and fear creeping its tendrils up my limbs. I look down at my plum, like somehow the time is going to ground me, or make me understand the gibberish I just heard. It’s 4:06 p.m.
What were all those strange, jumbled thoughts in Ollie’s head? What is it that we don’t suspect? What did he mean by “time stamp” and “installation” and “airtight”? Those are all meaningless words.
Only something about them is sending chills up and down my spine, causing me to take in gulps of the freezing air like I might hyperventilate. Because when it comes down to it, none of what I just heard makes any sense. And not only that—for those few minutes when I was standing there, watching Ollie type away on his plum, and hearing his nonsensical thoughts… It didn’t sound like him.
I stop at a bench, gasping for air as everything I witnessed roils through me. The way Ollie seemed to finally notice that I was there—five minutes after I arrived—and then turned on a dime just like that, smiling and referencing our movie marathon… It was terrifying.
Because for the five minutes before that, he didn’t seem like Ollie at all.
And if he didn’t seem like Ollie, is that because he’s been brainwashed? Did Gravelle get to him again? Do something to him?
The time—4:00 p.m. I remember now. It was 3:52 p.m. when Ollie left my room yesterday. And today, when I was reading his thoughts, he said something about a window. A five-minute window between 4:00 and 4:05 p.m. By 4:06, he was back to normal again.
Are there five minutes a day when Gravelle has some kind of hold over him? Is that what’s happening?
Then I hear it again, in my mind, suddenly remembering it so clearly.
This is 002.04, sending this message to Pollux.
002.04.
Pollux, the twin island to Castor. The one Seymour told us about.
I grab on to the back of the bench, feeling stabbing pains in my gut as the revelation hits me. How did I not see this right away?
Ollie wasn’t brainwashed.
He called me Eden. No one calls me that, except Gravelle.
002.04. It’s like the number that was written on the tag of the Tessa clone’s purple bomber jacket, 001.05.
That didn’t sound like Ollie back there because it wasn’t Ollie.
It was a Duplicate.
The Pretender
Ollie has been replaced by a Duplicate.
But how? How can this be? I try to find some semblance of order in my scrambled thoughts.
There was another Duplicate of Ollie. The first one. The one Gravelle murdered in Ollie’s place.
Ollie’s been cloned before, twice. First when Levi was created. And then, years later, when that Duplicate was introduced as a stand-in, a lifeless placeholder.
Now, there’s another one. A third, and I was just talking to him. Sitting next to him, on my bed, thinking everything was normal. I was trying to have a heart-to-heart with him, for God’s sake. Only it wasn�
��t my best friend. It was his copy.
But he’s so clever, I remind myself. He seemed so real. So exactly like Ollie. Those Duplicates who came to campus at the beginning of the school year—the Tessa, Jake, and Archer copies—they were reckless and immature. Barely able to stand in for their originals convincingly at all.
This Ollie, except for his strange behavior around 4:00 p.m., didn’t act like those others. He was smart. Thoughtful. He had Ollie’s mannerisms, knew his sense of humor, was able to reference our shared history. If he hadn’t run out of my room twice in two days, and if I hadn’t been able to read his thoughts, I never would have known.
It was only during those five minutes today when he didn’t seem like himself. When he was turned off, or on, or whatever it was that allowed him to communicate with Gravelle. That’s what he was doing, isn’t it? He said he was “sending this message to Pollux.” Which can only mean one thing. He was contacting the Similars’ guardian.
I feel light-headed, like the world is tilting sideways. That isn’t Ollie back there. That isn’t my best friend. It’s a fake, an imposter. Someone pretending to be Ollie.
But was he pretending? Those other Duplicates, immature as they were, really believed they were Tessa, Archer, and Jake.
This Ollie did too. In his mind, he was Oliver Ward. Still is.
The thought sends a wave of nausea through my body.
How long has this Duplicate been standing in for my best friend?
I can’t stay here a minute longer. I have to do something. I have to tell someone.
I begin running, letting the cold January wind ravage my face as I race back to Cypress, my mind whirling with questions. With fears.
He said the word “installation.” He said it “went off without a hitch.” That must mean it happened recently. I rack my brain, thinking. How did Gravelle do this? When did Gravelle do this?
I’m hit with a jolt of electricity as one question looms in my mind above all others: Was that the real Oliver I kissed on the shore of the lake before the holidays—or this imposter? It seemed like Ollie. It felt like Ollie. But this Duplicate, he seemed like Ollie too. If I hadn’t been so in tune to his every movement… If I hadn’t been so insistent on knowing what he was up to… If I hadn’t been able to read his mind, I never would have known anything was wrong. I would have been annoyed by his abruptness, but he could have easily brushed it off, made excuses.
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